


What is Normal?

by ellf



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV), Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game), World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Insanity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 08:20:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 62,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18384584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellf/pseuds/ellf
Summary: Buffy Summers, age 21. Spent the last six years trapped in a delusion which she had only now broken out of. She's trying to find her place in the world, but things keep popping up. Vampires aren't real, right?





	1. Chapter 1

As she opened her eyes, she had to wince as the harsh shining of the penlight caused her dilated pupils to constrict slightly, but nowhere near enough. Perhaps her wince wasn’t enough because as the light was pulled away, she could hear him speaking.

“I’m sorry, there’s no reaction at all.” That was completely wrong. She just needed to figure out where she was. She totally reacted, but maybe the guy didn’t see her. She needed to give a stronger reaction before he said something- “I’m afraid we lost her...”

Something like that. She could hear a woman sobbing in the corner... Her mother? She could have sworn that her mother was dead... But maybe that was the delusion. Maybe she hadn’t come home to find her mother dead on the couch of an aneurism. She’d been flashing back and forth so much recently it was ridiculously hard to tell what was real. The antidote... It hadn’t worked. She knew... She wasn’t there now. She was here. _This_ is what was real.

“Mommy...” She croaked out. Or rather she tried. It ended up coming out as a garbled noise from her that only vaguely resembled the word. In a flash the penlight was back and while the sobbing hadn’t stopped, it had at least abated enough that it seemed like her mother was stopping herself.  
“Buffy, can you hear me? Buffy?” Well, at least the doctor was getting her name right. She was afraid for only the slightest of seconds that the bastard would be calling her something like ‘Elizabeth.’ She wasn’t an ‘Elizabeth.’ Never had been, and she never would be. She answered the doctor with a nod. God, her mouth was dry.

“Water...” The word came out more clearly than her last one. Perhaps this Doctor.... _James Smith_ would be more helpful now. Doctor Smith was a dark-skinned man with a shaved head. His eyes were dark and she wasn’t quite sure she trusted them. Sure, the man had certainly _seemed_ helpful, and the lab coat he wore overtop of his dark slacks cemented him in his position. Still, the bastard had a penlight, an overly bright penlight. 

“Yes, yes, of course. You’ve been through quite an ordeal, Buffy.” Her eyes came into focus when he took that damnable penlight away. When she’d been flashing back and forth between Sunnydale and here, she’d seen the room, but she hadn’t quite gotten a good look around it. She certainly wasn’t restrained, though judging from the bed, it looked like they’d needed to restrain her a few times. She was in the corner, clutching herself. “Mr. Summers, would you mind getting some water for your daughter?”

Her father was here... that was right. The man went out of the room, likely to get the water she needed... at least she hoped. He hadn’t ( _abandoned his family, betrayed your mother),_ done anything to make her think he wasn’t someone who loved her. God, she hoped she was in reality now. 

“Do you remember where you are, Buffy?” The doctor asked, looking her in the face. Of course she remembered. She was at the mental hospital... clinic, whatever. According to the doctor, she’d been here six years. _Six years_ of her life lost to the delusion of Sunnydale. Six years that lacked meaning beyond the fact that she was crazy. She nodded.

“Yes...” Still hurt to talk. Hopefully her father would come back with that water soon. Those last moments in Sunnydale must have been rough on her vocal cords here. “Mom?”

“I’m here, honey... I knew you had the strength you needed...” Her mother came over to hug her, glaring a little as the Doctor started to protest. “I was worried there for a moment.”

After a little bit of huggage, her mother released her, but she didn’t leave her side. Her mother being here by her side... Sunnydale wasn’t real. This was real. Her mother was real.  
Her dad came in with a glass of water which he gave to the doctor. She reached out her hands for it, but Doctor Smith held it up to her mouth instead. Moving her hands to grasp it, she started to sip at it. “Slowly, Buffy. If you go too fast, you could choke.”

Right. That. Slow and sure, Buffy managed to wet her throat with the glass of water. Maybe when she next spoke, it wouldn’t be quite so hoarse or painful. It didn’t take her a long time to finish it, but each passing gulp felt like an eternity. No coughing, no spitting up, she managed to finish the entire glass before the doctor took it away from her.

“Buffy, you’re lucid now, but you were lucid before slipping back into the delusion earlier. I need you to stay with us this time. Can you do that?” Okay, Buffy didn’t know much about psychology. One class at UC Sunnydale where she’d fallen asleep was the extent of her experience, and if this was real, that was a delusion anyway, but the doctor seemed to be absurdly patronizing to her.

“Yeah, I think I can.” Might as well play along with him. _He wants you for your parents’ money._ She’d get better, and get out of here. Hospitals always freaked her out, and spending six years in one was far longer than she ever wanted to deal with it. “I want to be healthy again. Sunnydale wasn’t real... I know that now, but it felt so real...”

“Delusions often do... But if you can hold onto here, we might be able to see some improvement...” The doctor smiled at her. It was fake, but she let him have his pretty little lies. Lucidity was in the eye of the beholder.

“Will we be able to take her home?” Her mother sounded anxious, but her father was looking directly at her. She felt his eyes judging her, but at the same time, she knew he loved her. Maybe his eyes could judge her worthy of his love, but that would be up to each individual eye. 

“Not right away, no, but if she remains lucid this time, we may be able to explore outpatient treatment. Like this, she’s less of a danger to herself and others.” That was true. Buffy looked to her parents... and then at the thin slit in the wall where natural light could come in... Unfortunately it was night time. _When vampires come out to play..._ Vampires weren’t real. Demons weren’t real... and she was most definitely not the Slayer. “We’ll keep her here for observation over the next few days, and if she retains this grasp on reality...” 

He trailed off and smiled at her, almost realizing that she was still there, paying attention. She didn’t blame him. After all, when she was stuck in Sunnydale, she didn’t even know here even existed. She gestured for him to go on. “So basically if I don’t go crazypants again, I can leave?”

After his nod, she smiled. “I think I’ll be good then.” _What is reality but a series of connecting dreams?_

“Well, we’re going to have to leave you here for a while, Buffy. I’m sorry. Someone will be by to check on you later.” Doctor Smith led her parents out of the room, leaving her alone.

* * *

After showing the Summers parents out of the hospital, Doctor Smith headed for his office where he dialed a memorized number. When someone picked up on the other end, the dark-skinned psychiatrist smiled.

“Doctor Grout? Your treatment plan... it seems to have worked. The girl’s awake and lucid again. Room 510. Thank you... I look forward to the reward.”

* * *

Buffy spent the next week and a half under observation while she tried to get her own head on straight. From what she was able to determine, Sunnydale, CA was a town she completely made up. There was no Hellmouth, there were no vampires. She was the Slayer in mind only. Still though, it had felt real, and sorting that out from this reality was no easy task. She had barely any memories from her time in this institution, and what little she had were clouded by a sense of wrongness.

The one good thing about this though was the ability to see her mother again. Joyce Summers was an amazing woman, and Buffy hadn’t had nearly enough time with her. The fact that she was still with Hank Summers here felt strange, but maybe the two of them had managed to push back the issues they’d had for her sake. That had been a strange comfort: Buffy being the savior of the marriage rather than the cause of the divorce. When her mother visited during the daytime, sometimes with Hank, sometimes without, Buffy felt a bit like her old self again. Admittedly, she had changed significantly since Hemery, being stuck in a mental hospital for six years while under a delusion would do that to someone, but she was reconnecting with this world.

Buffy’s days often were spent with the doctors, group time, and sometimes visits with family. They needed to watch her, make sure she wasn’t going to fall under the delusion again. Her nights back in her room gave her time to think. As she laid down to sleep, she constantly feared waking back up in Sunnydale, that maybe this was still an illusion caused by some demon there, that maybe she’d... No. Here was definitely real. Buffy trusted her senses for the most part.

She rolled over in bed as she heard the door to her room open. Sure, she’d been expecting the nurse. Nightly medication was apparently part of her treatment plan, no matter how much she despised it. However, it was not the nurse at the door to her room. Instead, it was a man whom she hadn’t seen before. The man wasn’t all that much older than her father, his long orange hair perfectly coifed back behind his head. He wore a lab coat over what looked to be a tweed suit. The man seemed somewhat familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place him. Perhaps this was where the delusion of Giles got his tweed obsession from... if she’d seen him before. The man’s face was free of glasses, and he had the most striking dark eyes, sunken into his face only slightly, peering at her over a hooked nose. His skin was pale, paler than it should have been given the color of his hair and eyes, but vampires weren’t real.

“Miss Buffy Summers, I presume.” The man’s voice was cultured, American, but it had that air of superiority that only those with money could obtain. At her nod, he continued. “I apologize for waking you, my dear, but I felt the need to meet you myself. My name is...” _Doctor Alistair Grout._ “Alistair Grout, and I have a PhD in Psychiatry. I consulted with your doctor on your case.” _The blind lead the blind and the Lunatics treat the mad..._

Buffy shook her head, lingering bits of her delusion sometimes seemed to manifest like that. Whispers. They weren’t real. She knew it. “And why come see me now? Why not during the daytime?”

Doctor Grout shrugged apologetically. “Unfortunately my work keeps me occupied during most of the daylight hours, and I’ve always been a bit of a night owl.” _Even when he was alive he’d lie._ Vampires were not real. She knew it. Grout continued, “So this is the first I had managed to get off. I thought I would meet with the girl whose treatment I had heard so much about while I was able. Perhaps you could help me with my research.” 

Help him with his research? She had flashes to Maggie Walsh in her delusion, but again, that was most definitely not real. There was no Initiative. There was no ADAM. There was no Slayer. Sure this doctor seemed like he might be somewhat eccentric, but he was a psychiatrist. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. “How can I help from here?”

“First, I’d like to know about your delusion, Miss Summers. Tell me all about it.... You don’t have to go into supreme detail, but cover the important bits.” Doctor Grout wanted her to talk about Sunnydale? She didn’t know much about him. For all she knew, he could have been another patient, and where was that nurse?

“I don’t... I really don’t want to talk about it.” Even if he was a doctor, she didn’t want to... She wasn’t going to bring her mind back there. _This will not satisfy him. He is not sorry..._

“I apologize, my dear, but I must insist.” Doctor Grout’s voice took on a harsher tone then. “ ** _You will tell me about your delusion._** ”

Buffy felt the tugging at her mind. The pull of something not herself causing things to bubble up out her was unmistakable, and while she tried to fight it, it was for naught. She couldn’t overcome it. It was like a worm, burrowing deep into her psyche, a need to please this man, and a need to follow the order lest something worse happen. Still, why did it matter? She shouldn’t worry. After all, it’s not like Spike didn’t know what was happening already. She could smell his smokes and the chemicals he used in his hair. The unsouled vampire wasn’t someone whom she should trust, but the past few months, she’d been leaning on him more and more.

“Well, come on, Slayer. Let’s see how much you remember.” So she told him. While Spike knew everything already, she told him. Sunnydale, the Hellmouth, Angel, Glory, the Initiative, Faith, everything except for Dawn. She kept Dawn to herself. Sure, Spike knew already, but the fact that Dawn was the Key was something she had to keep to herself, even under pressure. She even mentioned Heaven and the Trio, but never Dawn.

“Probably time to sleep now, pet. Don’t worry yourself, your mum and pops will get you out in the morning.” Spike sounded so reasonable. She needed to sleep this dream away... after all, Sunnydale wasn’t real, and this didn’t feel like it was that. She laid back down in her bed and closed her eyes. This was such a sad dream. Why did she have to see Spike and not anyone else?

* * *

The following morning, she was woken by a feminine hand brushing her hair out of her face. When she opened her eyes, she smiled at her mother. “Morning...”

“Good morning, sweetie. Your father and I have some good news for you today...” Sure enough, when she looked to the foot of the bed, there was Hank Summers, smiling at her along with her mother. Sitting up, she turned to listen. “Your doctors say that it’s fine to take you home. You haven’t relapsed, and we can have you do any future treatment necessary as an outpatient. Frankly, I want my daughter back at home where she belongs.” Hank grinned at her. 

“When can we go?” Buffy tried not to sound too eager. This _was_ still a hospital... and for all she knew, her mind could easily be playing a trick on her.

“Just as soon as we get you changed out of that gown and into some real clothes. Which means it’s time for your father to step outside.” Her mother revealed a hangar and a bag. Despite everything, Buffy was still a Cali girl at heart, and wearing anything but the hospital gown sounded remarkably appealing right now. The moment the door shut after her father, she grabbed at the bags, making sure to get the appropriate underwear first. “I know it’s not the most stylish, honey, but you’ve been in here a while. I didn’t know how much your body’s changed.”

Buffy smiled. “Anything’s better than the hospital gown, Mom.” Of course, then she pulled out the grey sweats and tee-shirt that said “Architects use it right” and grimaced. “Well... maybe not by much though. Please tell me you brought a jacket...”

“It’s in the car, sweetie. Sorry, your Father packed the clothing when we heard.” _Archaeologists taste like history. Architects taste of creativity._ She’d have to deal with it. If she wanted to get out of here sooner, she’d wear the ugly shirt and then maybe she’d be able to con her Dad into taking her shopping. Or better yet, con him into giving her the card and letting her go wild. She put the clothes on and was personally glad that there was no mirror in her room. She didn’t want to see the mess she knew she must look like right now.

“Well... If the doctors say I’m good to go, I’d definitely like to. Being out of the hospital would be of the good.” Buffy said with a smile once she'd finished. “And getting some real foodage would be nice too.”

“We’ll get your father and head home then. All the paperwork we’ve needed to sign is already done, and the pharmacy has given us your medicine.” Ugh. Medicine. She supposed it might have been some help in controlling her delusion, but the reminder that she’d have to be drugged up for a good portion of the rest of her life did not sit well with Buffy. As much as she’d love to say that she was completely sane and that she didn’t belong here, certain prior facts disagreed with that.

As it was, she wasn’t entirely certain that even current facts agreed with her being completely sane, even if she hadn’t had a relapse to Sunnydale since a week ago. Buffy didn’t tell her doctors, but sometimes she heard whispers that seemed to come from nowhere. They were somewhat informative, and perhaps even helpful, but they were definitely not the mark of a sane person. 

Buffy shook herself out of her musings. It was time to get home. This hospital of the insane was clearly making her way too introspective, and she was definitely more of an action-girl. “Let’s go, Mom.”

The pair of women stepped out, and Hank met them in the hallway. Finally getting a good look at her father, Buffy noted that the man’s hair seemed a bit greyer in areas than she remembered, and though he wore a somewhat professional set of khakis and dark collared shirt, they were rumpled in areas, indicating that perhaps he’d fallen asleep in them. Maybe he’d been working late when he got the call, which would explain the ghastliness of the shirt he picked out.

“Hey Dad...” She wasn’t entirely sure how she should respond to him. The last memory she had of the man prior to this point was that he was in Spain with his secretary, living out the cliché. How had her delusion made her miss with her father? _He feels guilt and stayed. His secretary, nothing but kine._

“Hey pumpkin, looking good.” Did his voice sound strained? He was the one who picked out the damn shirt anyway. Or maybe it was her hair. It definitely could have been her hair. Of course, a niggling voice within her told her it could easily be this place. She might have been bad with hospitals, but her father was _terrible_ with them. _The healing women of this place could not hold his fancy._

“Can we get out of here? I’m totally over the lunatic chic.” Buffy said with a small scowl. Her father nodded and started leading the way out with her mother trailing behind. Buffy didn’t know the other patients she passed by. No faces stood out to her, nor did she care to try and look. The less memories she had of this place, the better. Even the one within her delusion she preferred to forget with the bastard doctors feeding patients to a demon and... _What makes you think this place is any different?_

She shuddered as she finally stepped outside into the sunlight, suddenly feeling, for half a second that maybe this wasn’t real. Maybe she was still under the influence of a demon in Sunnydale. Maybe the nerds had managed to convince her so much that she needed this that she’d.... No, this was real. The longer she stood in the natural light, the more she was convinced. There wasn’t a lot of natural light in her ce-room, so it took her eyes a few minutes to adjust. Once they were, she saw where her father had led her.

“What. Is. That?” Buffy bit out as she looked at the car. Well, if you could call it that. It was a four-door _something_ , painted a color that could only be described as puce. Oh. There was a hatchback. It was like her Mom’s SUV and Giles’s Citroen had a baby that was beaten with every single ugly stick on the way down. 

“It’s my Toyota Matrix, Buffy. I only fill up gas once every two weeks and it gets really great speeds.” Her father posed in front of the car and smiled... And she swore she saw a twinkle in his teeth. Like he was posing for some sort of camera or something... it wasn’t right. She shook her head, and while the car was unfortunately still ugly, Hank Summers was just opening the door for her rather than posing. “Are you okay, princess? I know it’s ugly, but it was the best car on the lot for its price. I’ll show you the other car when we get home. You’ll like that more, I promise.”

Buffy’s lips curled slightly as she stepped into the car. She supposed she would have to deal with this indignity for a little longer. She buckled herself in, and with an impish glee, she said “To Home, Jeeves.”

Finally, she was out of that place. No longer the One in all the world, no longer the only person whom everyone had to lean on, Buffy could finally just figure out how to be a normal girl. This is what she wanted, right? A world without vampires, demons, and her mother alive... Her parents were together. Why couldn’t she help but feel like she forgot something important?

* * *

The car ride was quiet as her father drove through the city. For some reason, he’d left the radio of his Matrix off, but that was fine with Buffy as she wanted to drink in the sights. Political signs for some upcoming election or another were on various corners, both for the Senatorial race and Gubernatorial. She didn’t care about either, so she dismissed the signs and looked at the people. Normal people, walking back and forth, doing whatever they needed to do for the day, caught her eye. These people never needed to worry about the world ending. They never had to stay up late researching a demon that might want to sacrifice someone. They never had to fight for their lives against the undead menace. And now? Neither did she. 

It took about a half hour to get outside the city to Westwood, Hemery High’s school district, and where her parents presumably still lived. The town wasn’t the most affluent in Los Angeles, though it did border Beverly Hills, nor was it the poorest. UCLA campus banners hung on a number of the houses in the neighborhood, and students milled about in their front lawns. Her father pulled down a side street, moving away from the college-focused housing near UCLA and into the neighborhood of her memories.

There it was, just as she remembered it. Well, for the most part, Buffy’s childhood home was as she remembered. The red mid-life crisis in the driveway certainly wasn’t there when she left and looked identical to Giles’s car he got not long after he opened the Magic Box. The paint on the house looked fresh, as if it had been repainted not long before she managed to get there, probably no sooner than a week ago though. The front lawn was kept neat and tidy, almost ritually so, and standing on it was a young woman.

Buffy swore she recognized the girl, with her brown wavy hair, and stylish yet conservative jeans and blouse combo. She couldn’t see the girl’s eyes at the moment, but she was certain that she would when her father finally pulled in the driveway. As he did so, the girl turned to wave to the car, and a look of what had to be both surprise and joy came to her face. Buffy could almost feel it, and she certainly felt inadequate in the clothing she had on next to Samantha. Yes, that was her name, Samantha. 

The girl had been a part of her clique in Hemery High, and she’d been the only one not to jump ship when Buffy had become the Slayer... Or rather when her troubles started. Samantha had been the one true friend outside of Pike who tried to help her through that mess, even if she didn’t know about Lothos. Perhaps it was for the best that the girl had been hospitalized due to a cheerleading injury prior to the gym problems. It hadn’t made her a target, nor did it mean she died. Why Samantha hadn’t appeared in her delusion was beyond her, but most of her LA life had been ignored in favor of Sunnydale. She’d had new friends and shunned old ones.

Samantha opened Buffy’s door when her father finished the parking and immediately leaned in for a hug. “Buffy! I’m so glad to see you!” _The girl cares for more than reputation. And turtles._

Of course, her mother stopped her before Samantha could grab on. “Perhaps it might be best to let Buffy get out of the car first, Sam.”

Buffy smiled gratefully. “No big, just need to shimmy out of this seatbelt.”

Unbuckling herself, she managed to slide out of the car to stand next to what might have been her only real friend.... who stood more than a head taller than her. To quote a delusion, bloody hell, that was annoying. Of course, as soon as she managed to make it out, she was wrapped up in the taller girl’s arms, smelling her perfume. This was nice. That is, the contact with real people was nice. She had always been a bit of a physical person, and physical affection certainly calmed her down. Even the voice inside her head had nothing to say here, and that was a definite comfort.

After about a minute, Samantha released her and looked her up and down. “Buffy, I’m sorry I couldn’t come see you more often, but you weren’t really lucid enough to have visitors most of the time.”

Buffy waved it off. “No big... I wouldn’t have been able to know you were there... It’s nice to know tha someone cared. “

Joyce smiled. “Samantha’s been a great help around the house and she wanted to be able to help with you if she could.”

While Hank popped the hatchback to grab a bag out of the back, Samantha grinned at Buffy. “Well, I just wanted to be able to help my friend out in her time of need. Speaking of, it looks like there actually _is_ something we can do.”

At Samantha’s gesture toward her clothing, Buffy mirrored her grin. “Shopping? I’d love to. Dad’s choice in clothes could be a lot better.”

“Hey, I grabbed what I thought would fit... Anyway, Buffy, we should get inside. Sam, feel free to come by later, once Buffy’s settled in. I know you have classes to get to.” Hank nodded to the girl.

“Absolutely, Mr. Summers. Buffy, I’ll see you later, and we’re definitely going to get you some better clothes. Also, a party. You’re healthy again, so we’re going to party like it’s 1999,” at what must have been some look from her mother, Samantha added, “once your parents say it’s okay, of course.”

Buffy nodded. “Looking forward to it, Sam, and it’s definitely of the good, seeing you, I mean.”

Samantha waved as she jogged off, and Buffy was led inside by her parents. The interior of the house was mostly as Buffy remembered it. The living room had a larger TV in it than she remembered, albeit a CRT. A computer sat on a desk in the corner, with its modem plugged into the wall. The kitchen was next to the dining area, opening up into it with a breakfast bar, kept neat and clean the way her mother liked it. The master bedroom sat on one side of the living room, and the other had the hall that led to the guest bedroom and her own. If Dawn had been real, the guest bedroom would belong to the little brat, but without the Key there, it sat as empty as her own room had for the past six years. She didn’t think her parents had all that many guests.

“... just the way you left it, sweetie.” Oh, she must have zoned out and missed when her mother started talking. That wasn’t exactly a good thing. She must have been talking about her bedroom, which Buffy opened the door to. It was clean, almost pristine, and almost exactly how she’d left it. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere to be seen. Her dresser was neat, still with the various pictures she’d taken along with the cheer trophies she’d earned during her middle school and Freshman year at Hemery,. Her vanity looked to have the same make up she left there, and the mirror was clean, reflecting everything in the room. Her bed was made, and sitting smug on top of the pillow was a very familiar stuffed animal.

Buffy most definitely did not squeal. She did not run over to her bed. She calmly stalked over and picked up her stuffed pig and gave him a hug. Mr. Gordo smiled at her, like he always did, reassuring her that things would be alright.

Hank wrapped an arm around his wife in the doorway and she leaned onto his shoulder. “Our baby’s home, Joyce. She’s finally home.”

* * *

The first two hours after she returned home, Buffy had holed herself up in her room. She’d claimed to her parents that she needed to find something better to wear if she was to go anywhere with Samantha today, assuming they’d let her. The fact was, she _did_ need to go shopping, and if she was going somewhere at all, she couldn’t be caught dead looking as she did. She spent some time going through her old clothes to find something that she could deem appropriate. Unfortunately, most of her clothing was too big on her now. Apparently she didn’t eat much while in the mental hospital, and her body had atrophied a bit as a result.

After she finally managed to find something she could wear, a simple skirt and blouse combo that wasn’t too loose on her, she decided to do something to get her hair in order. As she sat down at her vanity she’d started to think. If Sunnydale wasn’t real, it certainly had felt ridiculously close to being so. She wasn’t there _now_ , but that didn’t mean she couldn’t return there. Did she want to? Being the Slayer had some nice perks, but it meant fighting for her life every night. It meant being burdened with the fact that she’d probably die before she turned thirty. Burdened with the knowledge that her parents had split up... that her mother was dead. No, Sunnydale wasn’t better than here, not by a long shot. 

Sure, compared to there, here she felt... actually, she didn’t. She didn’t really notice at the hospital, but as she was going through her drawers to find her outfit and as she brushed her hair, she noticed here. This wasn’t like the Cruciamentum had been in Sunnydale. She wasn’t noticeably weaker than she should be. She didn’t feel like her senses were muted or her strength was less. She felt, for lack of a better term, normal. Sure, she couldn’t hear her parents in the next room discussing whatever there was to do about her, nor could she probably bend or break her desk again.... at least she didn’t think she could, but she wasn’t going to try. 

If she tried, and she was normal, she’d end up back in the hospital. If she tried and she _wasn’t_ normal... Buffy didn’t want to think about that. No, instead, she’d be as normal as possible, and not wonder why the computer downstairs had Windows 3.1 on it rather than Windows 98 or XP. (She’d paid way too much attention to Willow in her delusion.) She’d need to enjoy her time here. She had a sinking feeling that it was limited.

The doorbell rang a little after noon, when Buffy was sitting out in the living room with her mother, just enjoying being near her. Hank had brought home some lunch, Philly Cheesesteak subs, if it had mattered much, but given how long it had been since Buffy had eaten anything that wasn’t prepackaged hospital food, she wasn’t inclined to care about its greasiness. The doorbell rang again, a little longer this time, and Buffy had looked up from the television toward the door. The TV had some news on it about Santa Monica and the nightlife. Who named a club “The Asylum?” The owner seemed to be reclusive, never really taking in the spotlight when reporters went to interview her, being told they should come back in the evening. As the news shifted to TMZ, the doorbell rang again, insistent this time, and Hank got up, grumbling about interruptions.

Buffy followed Hank’s movement toward the front of the house with her eyes, fairly certain she knew who was at the door. Of course, given the time she’d been away, she could easily have been wrong. If Samantha wasn’t the one at the door at this time, and it was some sort of Jehovah’s Witness or something, she’d be annoyed. _The Dark Father has witnessed Jehovah, and shall again._

Creeptastic. Her ears perked up when she heard the female voice at the door and she got up to join her father in greeting her friend. As she walked up, her father and Samantha were mid-conversation.

“... sure it’s a good idea.” Hank said with a frown on his face.

“I know she _just_ got home, but you said she’s been lucid a week and you guys didn’t let me see her.” Samantha sounded irritated. “All I want to do is take her for a shopping trip. Nothing more.”

Her father sighed as she managed to make it into the hallway behind him. Buffy waved to Samantha, but didn’t interrupt Hank as he spoke. “I guess it would probably be okay. Her doctors seemed to think that if she hasn’t reverted yet, she probably won’t revert. Which is strange to me because her last period of lucidity only lasted about two months, and we couldn’t take her home _then_. “

“The difference between then and now, Dad, is I don’t really have anything to go back to this time. I know what’s real and what isn’t. Trust me.” Buffy hugged her father, sounding far more confident in what she was saying than she felt about it. Still, real or not... Sunnydale was nothing but a burden for her. If they got Faith out of.... No, it wasn’t real. She wouldn’t bother worrying about it. “But if I’m going shopping, I need some money. Being in a mental hospital all crazy is hell on the income.”

Hank returned his daughter’s hug, sounding less confident, “I’m trusting you into Sam’s hands, princess. I don’t want to see you hurt because of something that was preventable.”

“Mr. Summers, you know how well you can trust me. Just let me spend some time with my friend, okay?” Samantha asked.

“Fine.” Hank pulled out his wallet and then his debit card. “The PIN is 0116, Buffy, and I don’t want you spending more than four hundred dollars. Understand?”

“Thank you, Daddy.” Buffy grabbed the card and danced out the door. _PIN to his other card is 1029. Unimaginative boob._

Once they both were outside, Samantha smiled at her friend. “Looking much better. Guess some of your old stuff still fits, but nowhere near as well as it should.”

“Well, must be a combination of that hospital living and its food.” Buffy tried to sound upbeat, she really did, but any real reminder of that killed her mood faster than a vampire dusted. Which they weren’t real. Goddess, that was going to be a bitch to continually reinforce. Six years of delusionary habits didn’t go away in a week. Luckily Samantha didn’t seem to comment on it. “So, how’re we getting to the mall?”

Samantha gestured to the blue four-door sedan in the driveway. “Get in, your chariot awaits.”

Buffy laughed and climbed in the passenger side. “Good thing you have your license... Don’t think I’ll be getting mine for a while.”

Samantha nodded. “Well, being a responsible adult, I can help you through that if you want someone else to drive with other than your parents.”

Buffy shook her head. “Not too sure I want to be driving. With the meds and well...” She waved her hand in front of her head. “Plus, I couldn’t even drive well in the delusion. What kind of superhero is a terrible driver?”

“A Buffy one.” Samantha said seriously as they pulled onto the road. The rest of their conversation on the road shifted away from Buffy’s time in the hospital and more toward where they were going to go, what shops Buffy felt comfortable going into, and whether Samantha was going to get anything herself. The voice inside Buffy’s head would speak up every so often, mostly saying inane things which Buffy ignored. She wasn’t going to let herself be put back in that hospital if she could help it which meant no dwelling on things she could hear but nobody else seemed to. 

The ride to the mall wasn’t a long one. Being the middle of the day, there was little in the way of traffic save for the occasional tourist or student with a later class. The pair managed to get a parking space that wasn’t too far out of the way, and they headed into the mall, wallets burning for its goods. 

After about two hours of hard shopping, the pair grabbed some food from the food court and found a seat. 

“I still say that you shouldn’t have said that to the clerk.” Samantha chided Buffy. “How did you know that he was cheating on his wife anyway?”

“Please, he was looking at your boobs the entire time he was talking to you, and his ring finger had an indent where a wedding band should have been. He’d taken it off.” Buffy couldn’t very well say that the voice in her head called him a naughty man who wanted to do naughty things with... well, the voice had been thorough. She hadn’t expected it to be right. After all, it was just evidence of her being crazy, right? “Still, it was pretty funny. Too bad someone that cute had to be wasted on a cheating-y personality like his.”

Samantha made a noncommittal grunt in response, and Buffy continued. “So, any special boy in your life, Sammy?”

“Not... exactly. Buffy, you might not remember this, but I did come to visit you sometimes in the hospital. I told you this about a year and a half ago... I...” Samantha looked down at the table and blushed.

Buffy pondered. A year and a half ago, Samantha supposedly told her deluded-y trapped self about something relating to her and bo- oh! Oh. Oooh. Yeah, that would make some sense. Samantha had been reminding her of Willow for a bunch of the trip, only she was a lot more confident. Maybe Willow was somewhat based off of her friend... and when Willow started dating Tara, Samantha started... “You like girls, not guys. That’s okay, Sammy, you’re still my friend. Any special girl in your life?”

Samantha laughed nervously. “You could say that, but if you mean ‘are you dating someone?’ No, not right now. My last girlfriend and I... agreed to see other people. We needed different things from the relationship.”

“Ah.” What do you say to that? Honestly, there was only one real response to that answer and it was to eat her food and try to change the subject without making it more awkward. “I’m going to go get a smoothie... do you want one?”

Samantha shook her head. “I’m good. When you get back, I’ll get you caught up on what some of the others from High School are doing. Some of it’s pretty funny.”

Buffy nodded and headed toward the kiosk in the food court. In Sunnydale, Buffy had amazing situational awareness. She could block a knife thrown at her head without even seeing that it had been thrown at her, but this wasn’t Sunnydale, and Buffy’s mind was distracted by a smoothie decision when she bumped into a man walking toward his table, sending his food off of the tray.

Buffy sheepishly turned to look at the man, who wasn’t all that much older than her. The clean-shaven brown-haired man was dressed in a suit jacket and slacks, though he wore a black polo shirt underneath it. His shoes weren’t half-bad either, Italian leather, and... Goddess, she just spilled this man’s food court food on his shoes. “I’m so sorry Mister... I really should have watched where I was going...” _And on his farm, he had a sea of lint... E I E I O..._

The man, (Lint Sea?), shook his shoes off, causing the rice to fall off. “It’s no big deal; I can have these shoes cleaned pretty easily. I should have paid more attention myself.” 

He smiled, and she swore the man had dimples the size of a planet. This Lint Sea person... “Let me buy you another lunch.”

“It’s okay, I got it. I was just trying to eat something so I didn’t overeat at the firm. How about I get you what you were focused on instead? Looked like a smoothie to me from the direction you were going.”

Buffy nodded. “Yeah. I mean yes, please.” Something about him felt odd, but given how good a judge she was or wasn’t, rather, she’d let it be. Also, if he wanted to buy her a smoothie, she’d let him. It had been a while since she’d had a good smoothie for real. 

The man, the farmer of the lint sea, led the way over to the smoothie counter and placed an order for the both of them. He hadn’t even asked Buffy what she wanted, but somehow he managed to guess exactly what kind of smoothie she liked down to the individual ingredients. Well, maybe she’d spoken up some, but she wasn’t sure. She was pretty sure she’d stayed quiet throughout the affair. Maybe this farmer guy who didn’t dress anything like a farmer just was a good guesser. Simple coincidence. Of course, there were two things Buffy never really let herself believe in: coincidences and leprechauns, but this was the real world. Surely coincidence happened sometimes.

When the smoothies were up and ready, farmer handed Buffy her smoothie and she noticed something on his left wrist. The skin color didn’t quite match with the hand there. It wasn’t a difference in tan, but a subtle difference in coloration. 

“Must have been some accident on the farm to cause that kind of scarring...” Buffy commented.

“Farm?” The man shook his head. “Haven’t been on a farm since I was a kid, miss. Why’d you think that?”

“Oh... it’s nothing... Thank you for the smoothie.” Buffy didn’t want the guy to think she was crazy.

“Ah, you saw the name on the credit card. Used to get a lot of jokes like that when I was little. Not so much of them happen now. Let me get you back to your table, miss...” 

“Summers, Buffy Summers.” Buffy quickly said as farmer man’s cheeks just became dimple factories again. 

“Well, Miss Summers, it was very nice to meet you.” The pair managed to reach Samantha, still sitting at the table, waiting. The man placed his hand on the table as he pulled out the chair for Buffy.

“Oh look, Buffy, you managed to find a real gentleman.” Samantha grinned at her friend. 

“Sorry that I can’t stay and chat, ladies, but I have an important meeting in half an hour with a client. I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.” He smiled that damn smile again, and turned to walk off.

Samantha spotted something on the table near Buffy, and she snatched it up before her friend could even take a look. “Looks like he left you his business card, Buffy... with a personal number on back.”

“Mmm...” Buffy tried to take a look. “He was interesting.”

“Lindsey McDonald, Defense Attorney. Wonder what “Special Projects” is... and why it doesn’t list the firm.” Oh. That made so much more sense than a sea of lint. 

“Let me see it.” Buffy held out her hand, and Samantha daintily placed it there. “Looks like there’s an embossed logo on there... but I can’t really make it out. Lindsey McDonald though...” 

The name sounded vaguely familiar, like she’d heard it once and forgotten about it. She wasn’t sure who this Lint Sea Old McDonald was, and that didn’t stop her from wondering about him. _A ghoulish man with an evil hand_.

* * *

Over the course of the next week, Buffy began to acclimate herself to life back home with her parents. It was going to be a bit of a process for both sides; her parents were used to living on their own without her, and she was used to both of them not being there, even if she hadn’t been alone in her mind. It was hard for different reasons with each parent. With her mother, she kept flashing back to finding her body on the couch, staring, unmoving, dead. She recalled the funeral that she’d arranged, going to buy the coffin, and barely having any time to mourn her because Glory wanted her damn key. Hell-bitch didn’t get the Key though, and when Buffy would have had the opportunity to take some time to mourn, she wasn’t there anymore. Of course, now it wasn’t necessary. The woman she hadn’t gotten to mourn was now there. Despite knowing she was insane, albeit recovering, her mother loved her.

Her father, Hank, on the other hand, was a different story. The last memory she’d had of Hank in the delusion was also related to her mother’s death. The man was unreachable when people tried to let him know about Joyce. Unreachable, uncaring, and difficult to communicate with when he could be reached all described her father and how he acted in her delusion. Perhaps her father had his reasons, but that hardly mattered now. The man here both was and wasn’t how she remembered. During the week, he’d actually led some of the family outings, taking both Buffy and her mother to the beach, the movies, and to various restaurants. He wasn’t trying to parade the fact that she was out and about to anyone, he was genuinely trying to bond with her again, something she appreciated a lot. 

One major thing that Buffy had noticed over the course of the week was something she hadn’t realized until just before they’d gotten to the movie theater. The year was different from what she had remembered in her delusion. 1998, the year in which she sent Angel to Hell, when she first met Faith, when Miss Calendar had died, the year she had turned seventeen in her delusion... was this year. Now, she was obviously the same age as Sam; the two of them had gone to high school together, after all, and she’d been in the hospital for six years. She had no real explanation for why she would think it was four years later in her delusion other than it was a delusion. It had real vampires and demons in it, and everyone knew they weren’t really real, why should the year matter?

Still, it did a little. She’d let Samantha know that when the girl had come over. In response, she had jokingly been asked to foretell the future. After all, if her knowledge was four years ahead, surely she’d know something good that could be checked against it. Unfortunately, the only national event that came to her mind happened the previous fall, a short while after she’d been resurrected in Sunnydale. It wasn’t something she wanted to really be right about here, and she didn’t even recall all the details as she’d still been focused on her own personal issues. Her focus had been too strong to worry about New York. Sunnydale had that sort of death count in a month... But again, it was a delusion. She couldn’t guarantee that anything she saw in there was real. In fact, it was more likely that none of it was.

The medicine that she’d been prescribed by her doctors at the hospital seemed to be doing its job. She hadn’t had a psychotic break or relapse into Sunnydale since she’d been out of the hospital and on these meds. She suspected that the change in medicine is what allowed her to come out of the delusion in the first place, but what the medicine was, she wasn’t sure. Unfortunately, it couldn’t do anything to mute the damn voice she kept hearing, but at least the voice wasn’t telling her that certain people were vampire sand she needed to kill them. It just made her a little uncomfortable at how... accurate it was. It was almost as if she were reading someone’s mind, but not quite. It wasn’t deafening the way that the thoughts were when she’d obtained the aspect of the demon in Sunnydale, but it was still unnerving.

The voice, ultimately, was something she had resolved to speak about at her upcoming psychiatrist appointment. It wasn’t making her a danger to herself or others, so she doubted that the shrink would lock her back up in the mental hospital, and she was able to recognize it as the imaginary voice it was. Maybe the psychiatrist would be able to up her dosage a bit. It might help quiet the voice, and it might help her to further sort out her memories. That memory of Merrick seemed the same no matter which way she looked at it, and that blatantly had to be a part of the delusion. 

Still, it was before her major psychotic break that led to her getting placed in the mental hospital to begin with. Her next outing with Sam was the day after her psych appointment. She’d have to ask her friend to help her with that memory then. If she could find out what really happened, then perhaps she’d be able to remember it properly rather than focus on a memory that had to be false. Merrick couldn’t be real; because if he was, then either he was crazy or she... she couldn’t even finish that thought. She wouldn’t let herself. Something more to talk to the psychiatrist about. 

God, she didn’t want to go see the shrink at all. The upcoming appointment frightened her almost as much as the possibility of returning to the hospital. Perhaps it frightened her because of the possible return to the hospital. Whichever it was didn’t matter as she had no choice about going to this upcoming appointment if she wanted to continue getting her meds. 

So that’s the reason she found herself, without arguing the point, in Doctor Smith’s outpatient office. The waiting room for the office was somewhat stereotypical in how it was laid out. She’d recalled all sorts of pop culture examples of these waiting rooms, and she wondered how much Doctor Smith embraced the stereotype. Wallpaper lined the walls, some print of something that probably was meant to seem classy, but to her they just seemed somewhat tacky. The chairs weren’t all that comfortable either, but she didn’t expect much out of armed waiting room chairs. Especially since the padding on them looked like they hadn’t been changed since the late nineteenth century.

Her parents waited with her, at least for now. Her father had mentioned something about needing to go to some appointment or another with a client in half an hour so he’d be leaving shortly before her appointment with her mother along with him. Her mother would be back when her appointment was supposed to be complete to pick her up. 

“Okay sweetie, I’ve written down my cell phone number so you can call when your appointment’s done. I have some errands to run after dropping off your father, and while I’d like to be here when you get out, I’m not sure how long they’ll all take.” Joyce’s hug reassured Buffy a little. It emphasized that her parents weren’t just going to leave her here. Again. None of them wanted a repeat of the last six years, and Buffy knew that her parents couldn’t keep scheduling their lives around her. Still, she wondered what errands her mother needed to run this close to sunset. _Out, out, damned spot. A mind is a terrible thing to dirty._

Oh hell no. She lost her moth... No, it was just the voice again. She wouldn’t worry until her mother said something. There was no tumor in her mother’s head. That was something she’d seen only in the delusion. “Yeah, Mom, I’ll be fine. I’m sure Doctor Smith just wants to see that I’m doing okay with you two...”

Her father ruffled her hair, knowing that it would annoy her a bit. “You’re doing great, Buffy. We’ll just be taking things a step at a time.”

Swatting at his hand, and purposefully missing, Buffy smiled. “Thanks Dad, now go on you two. I’ll be fine here at the big scary psychiatrist. Dandy even.” 

Her parents took that as their cue to leave, stepping out of the front door and leaving her and the receptionist as the only people in the waiting room. Idly she wondered why Doctor Smith scheduled the appointment so late for her. Didn’t he have a home life or some kind of social life? A seven PM appointment seemed remarkably out of place for a psychiatrist, but at least it gave her parents time to do what they needed to do. Buffy eyed the receptionist, an older woman with poofy dark hair that seemed busy doing something or another with her computer. Maybe she was playing Solitaire. _She seeks death’s embrace_.

After about a half hour of waiting, flipping through magazines, brochures, and wishing she had something to occupy her hands with, Buffy was starting to get restless. If she’d had a tennis ball, she’d probably be bouncing it along the wall and catching it. If she’d had a piece of wood, it would probably be a stake, but that was something that here was supposed to help fix. If she had _something_ to do, she would be doing it rather than waiting longer in this godforsaken waiting room for something as simple as having her name called. It was the receptionist. Her fault. The doctor probably wasn’t even here, and she’d have to wait for even longer to get home. She deserved to be punished. Perhaps the doctor wa-

“Bunny Summers?” The receptionist’s voice was nasally and dry. Perhaps there was a hint of a whine in there as well, but it grated, especially since she got the name wrong. _Happy bottoms make sour faces._

“ _Buffy_ Summers, miss.” Buffy corrected as she stood up. That woman... The door next to the desk opened, and out stepped a nondescript older man who made for the exit.

“The doctor will see you now, _Buffy_.” That woman’s face settled into something akin to as if she had smelled something supremely awful while swallowing a lemon. Rude receptionist aside, Buffy decided to be the bigger woman and passed through the door. 

Doctor Smith’s actual office was a clash of stereotypes. Books lined the walls, similarly to the waiting room, but unlike the waiting room, not every wall was covered. The books only extended halfway down the wall behind the doctor’s desk, and paintings and posters were on the wall instead. The portrait on the far wall reminded her of someone and tickled the back of her mind, but she couldn’t place it. Crazy-styled redheaded pale men aside, her attention was also drawn to the brain posters and what looked like a not often used beanbag chair. Next to Doctor Smith’s desk, he had some regular chairs, and then the embrace of the stereotype. A leather chase, clearly kept shiny was set so that the patient could easily lay on it while the doctor slid over. Still, that didn’t explain why the office was so...

“I know, I know, it’s a bit big, isn’t it? This was originally going to be a surgical theater.” Doctor Smith smiled at her and gestured at the seats available. “Sit down wherever you feel comfortable.”

Buffy decided to take the chase lounge, the smell of the leather tickling her nose, drowning out the hint of disinfectant that she smelled. Now if only she could get that buzzing to die down, she’d be set. The doctor’s speaking would help with that. 

“It’s good to see you up and about, Buffy.” Doctor Smith’s voice was calm and collected. “A far cry from where you were a month ago. Your progress has been phenomenal.”

“Thanks, Doctor Smith... I feel a lot better too. I’m glad that I’m able to be with my parents.” Buffy figured that it was time to start. “So when are we going to get the funny pictures out?”

“Honestly, Buffy, I feel a Rorschach test would be premature this soon after your release. Instead, I would rather just ask you directly a few things. How are you adjusting to being home again?” The doctor rolled his chair over nearby, and had a pen and small pad, probably for notes. The ink from the pen smelled black, maybe. _A mark, a moon, the Dark Father and Mother..._

“Well enough, I suppose. They kept my room the same... I think I need to change it some, but I don’t know to what.” Buffy was hesitant. This was the same doctor that told her to kill her friends in Sunnydale, but that was a delusion, wasn’t it?

“Yes, well, you’ll need to start to figure yourself out. Who _you_ are as opposed to who you imagined you were. Part of that will be learning to fend for yourself... Are you making any plans to join the workforce, or are you planning on continuing your education?” Doctor Smith scribbled down in his notebook, and he glanced toward the door. 

“I haven’t... I haven’t really thought about it yet. I suppose I could study for my GED and then see about joining Samantha at UCLA afterward, but I don’t know... I’d be so far behind everyone else. I missed most of high school... I don’t know how my parents did it.” Buffy really was worried about the burden she placed on her parents, and she knew that she needed to do something for funds. She couldn’t live with her parents forever.

“Yes, I see... In your case, I would recommend studying for the GED. I can recommend some tutoring groups to help get you caught up on what you would need. Let’s change gears a bit, how have the meds you were prescribed been working? Any hallucinations, reminders of the delusion, strange hints at all? Clearly you haven’t regressed.” More scribbling and more glancing. Buffy guessed that normally a patient wouldn’t be watching their doctor like this, but Smith was an odd one.

“The meds have been working fine... I haven’t really noticed any side effects, I think. Though I do... I hear a voice. It’s not mine, and it’s not always, it’s not even always the same... But I hear it sometimes. Whispering. Telling secrets that I shouldn’t know or be privy to. Of course, it’s usually not right, but it’s odd. Could that be something related to my delusions?” There, now it was laid on the table. If he was going to lock her away again, so be it. She didn’t want it to happen, but the voices were something she needed to talk about.

“Voices, eh? Well as long as-“ Smith was cut off by the sound of his intercom buzzing. He moved over to the device and depressed the large button on it. “Yes?”

“Doctor Smith, _he_ has arrived. You told me to let you know when that happened.” The receptionist’s voice sounded even more nasally over the intercom, but Buffy had to wonder who she was talking about. _The master has come to check up on his pet..._

“Yes, of course, send him in.” Smith stood from his chair, shakily laying down his pad on the desk behind him as he did so, and seconds later, the door opened. In the doorway was the man from the portrait, only his hair was tied back into a ponytail, and he wore a well-tailored suit, albeit with a few eccentric points. “Buffy Summers, this is Doctor...”

Buffy’s whisper carried through the room. “Alistair Grout...” She quickly stood up, placing the chase lounge between her and the man. She didn’t trust the situation, nor did she trust the feeling drawing her respect toward him. 

“Oh, you remember. Well, somewhat. Marvelous. We’ve met before, James, back in her room in the Asylum wing.” Grout walked into the room, followed by a man and a woman dressed in what looked to be outfits stuck in the sixties. They seemed to follow Grout’s lead. _Dogs follow their master’s treats..._

“You... No. You did something...” Buffy shook her head. 

“I consulted with him on your treatment when it looked the worst. It helped.” Smith said simply. 

“Of course it did, James. I am one of the foremost minds in psychiatry, after all. Now, please be quiet while I talk to Miss Summers.” Smith nodded and mimed zipping his mouth. 

“What do you want with me? Didn’t you find out enough last time?” Buffy tried to put on a brave front.

“That? No, my dear. That was merely research. What I am looking for is discovery.” Grout nodded to his two shadows, who broke off and flanked Buffy. “And discovery requires experimentation...”


	2. Chapter Two: Normal Lives are Overrated

Buffy jolted awake with a start. Looking around, she clutched her blankets tight to her chest. Her bedroom, she was in her bedroom. Mr. Gordo stared at her from his position on the floor on the other end of the room. His eyes accused her of a number of things. Buffy shuddered. Her stuffed pig seemed to stare down her very soul, knowing what lied beneath, what she had done. He knew how she had... No. That was a dream. It had to have been a dream. There was no way she had....

The dreams were getting to her. She wasn’t going to fall back into her delusions, she wasn’t. Vampires were _not_ real. Sunnydale wasn’t real. The demons weren’t real, and she wasn’t some mystically empowered warrior destined to fight all things supernatural. She had to hold on to that. She needed to focus on the real, the now.

_Givers of gifts should prepare for receiving._ No. Death was not her gift. Buffy left her bed and walked to her vanity. She popped open her prescription bottle, and she took two pills into her hand. The pills were gel capsules containing some sort of fluid medicine. The name of the drug was something hard to pronounce, and its list of side effects was something suitably long for any psychiatric medication. Buffy only knew two things for certain about them. They were small, and the liquid they contained was a deep red, the color that blood turned when exposed to air, and she knew that she would feel better after taking them. Two little pills would take all her worries away, give her the strength to carry on.

Funny, the Chosen One, the Slayer needing two pills to even get through the day, but she wasn’t exactly the Slayer now, was she? Mr. Gordo continued to stare, the unsaid accusation echoing in the silence of the room. She wouldn’t feel guilt over what had never happened. She needed to...

Buffy popped the two pills into her mouth and swallowed without water. For just a second, she could feel herself back in Sunnydale, back in the flooded basement, standing over the gathered remains of the Buffybot and Ted, and then she snapped back to reality. She could see every aspect of her vanity’s wood grain; see the light reflecting off of her mirror. She could hear the tiny vibrations in the air as the air conditioner kicked on; she smelled the faint hint of lavender that had been in the shampoo she’d used the previous day, faded only slightly. She placed a hand on her vanity to steady herself, feeling the dips and divots in the wood. This world was more real. Here was where she knew she needed to be, and it was here that she was going to stay.

Buffy pushed off of her vanity lightly, and unconsciously used some prior training to organize her thoughts. Today, she was to have lunch with Samantha, and then potentially, she was hoping that her parents would let her get some time out of the house. It had been far too long since she’d been dancing, and given that she was doing better, albeit while medicated, she was certain that they couldn’t object to her having a good night out. 

Buffy made her way down the hall, and as soon as she stepped out of her room, she could hear her parents discussing something in hushed voices in the living room. Not wanting to interrupt them yet, she closed her eyes and listened. One thing her delusion about Sunnydale taught her was how to listen. One needed to know when a certain nasty was out to get you or which direction that certain scream just came from. People assumed that the skill came from her being the Slayer, something like Superman had super-hearing. They weren’t wholly right, otherwise it wouldn’t translate to what she was able to do now. After all, here she _wasn’t_ the Slayer. She was just a normal human being, albeit one hopped up on her anti-crazy meds, but still only human. Theoretically anyone could learn to do it; it just required the focus to blot out other sounds and only hear what one was seeking out to hear. Buffy wanted to hear her parents and pushed out everything that didn’t matter otherwise. She _listened._

“… something wrong with her still, I’m telling you, Joyce.” Her dad sounded worried. “You saw how she was when we brought her back last night. It was almost as bad as when we visited her in the hospital.”

“The doctor said she just needed to sleep off the therapy session. When she wakes up, she’ll be with us. The doctor said to call him if she wasn’t.” Her mom’s voice, by contrast was calm, belying the volume.

“Even when she’s with us, something still isn’t quite right. She seems different, Joyce. It’s… I can’t really put my finger on it, but she’s got a look in her eye sometimes that’s like she’s listening to someone that isn’t there.” _The voices in your head are the voices in mine and the voices in her head are the voices in his._ Buffy forced the voice out. No matter how accurate her father’s words were, she wasn’t in her delusion anymore. She was here now. The voice might have been a side effect of her mind getting those delusions under control, concentrating into that creepsome voice. Still, she couldn’t tell how worth it being out of the delusion was sometimes.

“Hank, she’s _home_ , and she’s lucid. The doctors let us take her home, and she doesn’t have to be in the hospital anymore, isn’t that enough?” Buffy’s heart ached when listening to her mother. She remembered when she told her mom again about being the Slayer, how she had reacted, and how it contrasted with what her mom was doing now. It seemed like her mom was a little more like how she was toward the end… no, she was alive now.

“Yes, but for how long? You know as well as I do that last summer she was lucid for four months. Four wonderful months that she was out of her delusion, but they didn’t let us take her home _then._ And they were right not to! She fell right back into her delusion when her so-called _friends_ called. She felt that they needed her more than we did. She went back to them, and she left us, Joyce. Our daughter very nearly made that same decision when she came out of it _this time_. Yet they let us take her home. What’s the difference between then and now?” Buffy couldn’t help but agree in some aspects. While she didn’t want to go back into her delusion, she wasn’t stupid. It didn’t make sense why they were able to release her so fast after she came out of it. She was a practically comatose patient who had suddenly attained lucidity. They should have been wanting to study her, not let her go. _Tag them and let them go. See the Kine in their natural habitat. See them behave…_

“Don’t. Just… don’t, Hank. I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth. We have our baby back. If it’s only for a short time, we should enjoy it while it lasts. Is it too much to just want my baby back?” Okay, now she could smell the whiskey coming from the living room. Were the two of them drinking already? It was a little early in the day for the alcohol to come out, wasn’t it? She needed to head in there and end this before it got to a point where she’d want to speak up or they began fighting.

Buffy grimaced as she allowed the rest of the world to come into focus. When she’d done this in her delusion, she’d been able to regain her attention on the general view of reality fairly easily without it overwhelming her. She certainly hadn’t expected the colors to sharpen, scents to become clearer, nor could she even think that she’d still be able to hear her parents… and practically everything else. There was a low electric hum and a high pitched hiss that sounded like the TV was on but on mute, albeit not in the living room, perhaps her parents’ room? The cacophony of sounds was deafening, causing Buffy to stumble and place her hand down. It was like what happened when she took her pill was multiplied by a factor of ten.

No. This was _not_ happening. She could overcome it. This was just another type of hallucination which she could, and would, force her way through. Push it back. Push it all back. Focus on what was in front of her. She was better than this. She might have been a crazy person, but she would not let that detract from her seeing reality the way it really was. _Who defines what is really real? Are you crazy or the only one who is sane?_

Focus. Control. Power through it. And then it was gone. The world was normal, and Buffy released a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding. Now she could go into the room, interrupt her parents. She glanced up and let another breath out before breathing in. Smile, Buffy. Your parents need to see that you’re fine. You need to be fine. Just two more steps. There.

Buffy stepped into the living room, but her parents continued their discussion in hushed tones, not seeming to notice her presence. Apparently, despite Buffy’s near-collapse from sensory overload, she still managed to be unintentionally sneaky. That, or her parents were so engrossed in their conversation about her that they couldn’t focus on anything else. That wouldn’t do at all.

Buffy cleared her throat, “Morning, Mom, Dad.” She glanced at the clock. Well, it was still morning for another twenty minutes anyway.

Her voice seemed to have the necessary effect on them as Hank and Joyce Summers turned to face their daughter. “Good morning, pumpkin. Glad to see you up and awake.”

“Yeah… how come nobody woke me?” Buffy asked. “I mean, isn’t Sam supposed to be meeting up with me in a half hour?”

“We would have, sweetie, but something came up. You looked so peaceful there on your bed anyway, and we figured it wouldn’t harm anything if we let you sleep in a bit more.” Her mother said with a smile. _Familial strife takes precedence over wakefulness. A universal truth._

The voice in her head seemed a little off-point today, but that was fine. She could deal with it if it wasn’t making sense. The moment it started to make sense was when she’d be worried.

“What if Sam had shown up before I’d had the chance to get dressed?” Buffy asked, allowing a bit of petulance to creep into her voice.

“We’d have sent her in to wake you herself. And then maybe broken out the video camera to tape the – ow…” Her father rubbed his shoulder and gave a bemused look to her mom.

“If Samantha had shown up, I would have had your father wake you up and stalled her with some hot chocolate. Of course, you’re awake now, and as you said, she’ll be here in half an hour. You’ll probably have lunch with her.” Her mom smiled to Buffy and then her eyes flicked downward from Buffy’s face.

Buffy looked down at herself. While her Yummy Sushi pajamas were fine for lounging around the house or sleeping in, (speaking of, how did she get dressed in them?), they were wholly unsuited to going out on the town with an old friend. Muttering something unpleasant under her breath, Buffy nodded. “I’ll go get ready to go out then. No telling what Dad would pick if we gave him the chance.”

“Just because I want to keep the boys off of you…” Hank started, and Buffy turned on her heel, swiftly heading back to her room.

Buffy’s wardrobe wasn’t all that extensive. Actually, to be accurate, it _was_ pretty extensive, albeit with clothing that was far better suited on a freshman or sophomore at high school than on the twenty-two year old adult she happened to be. Luckily, the day after she managed to get released from the mental hospital, she took a shopping trip with Samantha to get some appropriate clothing for the season. It wouldn’t do to be caught in clothing that was _so_ last year… six years ago. Buffy scanned the wardrobe, letting her eyes fall on an outfit that hung on the interior door. A smile played itself on her lips as she remembered when she’d joined Hemery High’s Cheer Squad, and a wince happened when she remembered Amy’s mother in her delusion. The cheerleader outfit on the doorway wasn’t her Hemery High uniform, no. This was something that she and Sam had bought because they’d thought it would be funny. The appropriate underwear to go with this was a white, hip-hugging thong, whose straps would be visible with how low the skirt hung on her hips. The shirt would bare almost all of her midriff and reveal a great deal of her chest if she wore it. It was, in short, almost a fetish cheerleader outfit, something that Sam seemed to enjoy seeing her in.

Now that she thought about it, there were probably reasons for that, but Buffy didn’t really care much. The slutty cheerleader outfit was definitely _not_ something she would wear, even to go out to a club. Instead, she reached for a far better and stylish outfit. She put on a sports bra and a tank top that matched the colors, and she put on a pair of Capri jeans. She and Sam were planning to walk around a bit that day, and she wanted something that would be comfortable and easy to move around in. Of course, this left heels out. As nice as it would be to stand at Sam’s eye level, her feet would not thank her for it.

Tying her hair back, she surveyed herself in the mirror, and jumped. Reflected in the mirror nearby was a little girl, perhaps no more than eight. Her brunette hair came down to the small of her back, and she wore a hospital gown. Buffy glanced to where the mirror was reflecting… No little girl, back into the mirror, and the girl just smiled at her. Buffy knew that this had to be another symptom of her lack of sanity, but it had been so long since she’d even had a glimpse of this girl, even in her delusion.

“Hello Buffy…” The little girl said with a wave and gentle smile.

Buffy couldn’t help it. She knew this girl. She knew this had to be her mind playing tricks on her again. “Hello, Celia.”     

Celia was, for lack of a better term, Buffy’s first failure. When the two of them were little, the cousins had played together, the best of friends. Their favorite game to play together was “Power Girl.” Buffy, of course, was always the superhero, while her cousin needed to be saved. The two always played together as little girls were wont to do, but it wasn’t to last. Celia had come down with some illness of some sort and had needed to be hospitalized. Of course, Buffy had to visit her favorite cousin in the hospital to help her get better. Once her parents were sure that Celia wasn’t contagious, they took her to visit so that she and Celia could enjoy each other’s company. While her parents and Celia’s were out, however, Celia had died. No that wasn’t quite right. Buffy had watched as Celia was…. Something had killed her. Made it look to all doctors like it was the fever, but she'd watched the girl go into convulsions and struggle against something.

In Buffy’s delusion, that something was called Der Kindestod. Buffy had watched as Der Kindestod had drained the life force of her cousin, unable to do anything because she couldn’t see the demon did what it did because she couldn’t see it. Only the sick could see Der Kindestod, something she found out about years later when she was in the hospital with a particularly nasty flu. She’d seen the demon attack several children in the hospital. It was once she had managed to ingest a safely diluted (thanks to Willow) amount of Disease that she had managed to kill the demon. The reason she had to take the disease was because she had been on the road to complete recovery at that point.

She’d managed to assuage her guilty conscience about Celia when she’d slain Der Kindestod in her delusion, but that didn’t explain why she was seeing her cousin now. Admittedly, here there was no Der Kindestod to slay, no demon to have killed her. There was no real explanation for Celia’s death, and now that she thought about it, Buffy did wonder how it had happened. Buffy remembered her cousin’s death the same either way. Buffy’s guilt should have been handled in the delusion. If she wasn’t feeling guilt over the girl’s death now, why? Why had her dead cousin shown up now? Obviously the girl couldn’t be real. If the entirety of Sunnydale was a delusion, and if vampires were not real, why would ghosts be? Still, the apparition stood unmoved in the mirror, obviously uncaring about her thought processes.

Guess there was no point in delaying it more. She needed to talk to her. “Celia, why are you here?”

The little girl in the mirror’s smile widened just a hair, and she answered. “To talk.”

“About what?” Might as well be straightforward.

“Buffy, what happened to you? You used to be Power Girl! You were strong, you were my hero! Now you’re this…” Celia shook her head in disgust. “This shell.”

“Hey! You try sitting in a mental hospital for six years in a delusion and see how you turn out.” Buffy said sharply. She then followed that with a mutter. “Says the girl who’s talking to her dead cousin in a mirror. Bastion of sanity, I am.”

“That’s just it, Buffy! Why are you so sure that it was a delusion?” Celia pressed.

“Celia….” Buffy waved her hand around her. “This is real life. This over here. Sunnydale was a place with monsters. Vampires, demons, magic. It was all there, and it _isn’t real_. It can’t be.”

“Uh huh. And there aren’t monsters here. You only thought there were, which is why you burned down that gym.” Celia said, crossing her arms.

“Hey! I didn’t burn it down. The fire marshals said it could have been mice.” Buffy pouted.

“Mice smoking cigarettes? What is the world coming to?” Celia asked and shook her head. “When we know the real reason that the building burned down was because Lothos’s touch lit up that cross. And you used it to get the vampires he brought with him out of the gym so the students would be safe.”

“Vampires aren’t real, Celia.” Now she knew that Celia had to be a hallucination of some sort. The girl was in no way speaking like an eight year old. Of course, it meant Buffy was crazy, but that was par for the course here.

“Are you so sure they aren’t? What about Doctor Grout?” Celia asked, seeming to change the subject.

“He’s a great psychiatrist and has been helpful to Doctor Smith in my condition.” Buffy said automatically. “Wait… Doctor who? I’m sorry, Celia, I didn’t catch that.”

If Celia was a delusion and she’d said something that Buffy didn’t catch, something was wrong with that.

“Huh.” Celia sounded a little confused. “Power Girl, I think someone might be using Red Kryptonite on you.”

“… what?” Buffy’s mind whirled a bit. Kryptonite was Superman’s bad thing, right? What did red…. Never mind.

“Sunnydale could be real, Buffy. Remember Anya’s description of the multiverse?”

“… Yeah, the world without shrimp. Sunnydale was a delusion, just like this talk.” Buffy said, stressing the word delusion perhaps a bit unnecessarily.

“If it’s a delusion why are you still talking to me? Your friends would probably want you back….” Celia said.

“It _has to be_ a delusion.” Buffy said quietly. “What I did… If Sunnydale wasn’t a delusion, what I did was unforgivable. They couldn’t take me back after that. Mom and Dad are together here. Mom’s _still alive_ here. Sunnydale has to be the delusion. Even if it means I’m crazy. Talking to dead cousins who are smarter than they should be. It might be all insane-y, but I need it.”

“And there are vampires.” Celia stated simply.

“And there are vam- Wait, no there aren’t.” Buffy said strongly.

“Doctor Grout.”

“He’s a great psychiatrist and has been helpful to Doctor Smith in my condition.” Buffy blinked. Celia had clearly said something, but Buffy couldn’t quite recall what. “Celia I-“

The doorbell rang, interrupting her. From the living room, she could hear her father get up to get the door, and her mother called out her name. Buffy turned her head back toward the mirror, and Celia was fading away.

“You think you know who you are, what’s to come?” As Celia faded away, Buffy swore she saw a glimpse of desert behind her. The voice was joined by a darker tone as she continued. “You haven’t even begun.”

Buffy stared at the mirror, now empty of anything save her own reflection. What… was that? Was that really just a hallucination? Was it really Celia? Was it something else?

Buffy shook her head. _The dead may talk. They may walk. They may feed. They may need_. And the creepy voice returned. Wonderful.

“Buffy, are you ready yet? Samantha’s here and waiting for you.” Her mom’s voice came from outside the door.

 

Buffy looked down at what she was wearing, brushed off her jeans and closed the wardrobe. “On my way out, Mom.”   

After glancing one last time at the mirror and verifying that yes, Celia was gone, Buffy made her way to the living room where Samantha was waiting.  Today the brunette had her hair in a ponytail, causing it to frame her face in a way that almost looked elfin.  She had a pair of jean shorts on that were only just loose enough to be interesting and a blue blouse that did similar things to her curves.  Buffy had to remind herself that the last person she sl- Oh wait, that was in her imagination.  Still, she was pretty sure that she was straight.  Not that there would be anything wrong with her if she wasn’t.  Sam wasn’t and that was awesome. Great.  Wonderful even.   Goddess, even her denials in her head sounded a bit much.

Glancing over her friend, Buffy shook her head.  Sam certainly pulled off her outfit today, but the girl was her _friend_.  She in no way was going to let it affect her.  So she drew a bit on her inner Cordelia, which made sense, since the girl was a figment of her imagination anyway.  

“Sammy, how’d you manage to get that outfit past my parents?” Buffy asked with a small smirk on her face.  _Look at the kine.  All painted up pretty for the slaughter.  The best wool is sheared from then._   

Buffy’s smirk started to fade a bit as Samantha replied.  “It’s all in the stance, Buffy.  Are you ready to go?”

“You know it.”  Buffy refused to let the creepy voice dictate her feelings.  Sammy was going to be fine today, and she would make sure of that.  Even if it meant a return to the mental hospital, she would _not_ let anything happen to her friend.

“Then let’s get out of here.”  Sammy grabbed her by the arm and led her through the front door, pausing only to let Buffy say goodbye to her parents at the door.   

Once outside, Buffy noticed something, more specifically she noticed the lack of something that she had expected to be there.  “No car today, Sammy?”

“Well, we can’t exactly have a nice walk together if we’re driving to our destination, now can we?”  Samantha smiled at Buffy.  “Besides… the car’s in the shop.”

Buffy snorted and they continued walking.  “What happened?  It seemed fine when we went to the mall.”

“Oh, the check engine light came on after class on Tuesday, and I brought it in.  Turned out to be something with the timing belt or something.  I don’t know, I’m not that good with cars other than driving them.”  Samantha shrugged as they passed some playing children on the sidewalk.

“Better than me, for certain.  So, where are we headed?”  Buffy had to ask as the neighborhood clearly had changed a lot while she was… away.  Years gone in a near-blink of an eye, and she was elsewhere.   _The world and we are immutable, the kine upon it are not._  She was pretty sure that she wasn’t included in that “we” in the creepy voice.  Otherwise she’d… do something….  How do you kick the ass of a disembodied voice?  It doesn’t have an ass to kick.  

“Oh, I figured we could have lunch at Sergio’s and then take a ride on the bus down to Santa Monica so we could enjoy some time on the beach.  Get some sun, sand, and enjoy the view.”

 

“Sounds great.”  Buffy paused.  The only Sergio’s she knew of in the direction the pair were walking was…  Hell.  They were going to walk right past Hemery.  This was going to suck.  On the positive side?  Daylight.  If the gym wasn’t full of vampires, she wouldn’t need to burn it down.  Not that she would need to burn it down.  Not that she admitted to burning it down in the first place.  Her expulsion was totally unjustified.  Mice with cigarettes could easily have been the culprit.   Or a burning cross clutched by a crazed master vampire, either-or. 

Samantha seemed to sense Buffy’s unease and offered a reassuring smile.  “Don’t worry.  We’re just going to be walking by the campus.  It’s not like anyone we knew will even be there, and you have to see the renovations they did to the gym from outside.”

Buffy nodded.  She supposed her friend could be right.  Of course, that did nothing to alleviate the combination of nervousness and guilt that set in when she saw the school zone sign, indicating that they were within range.  She could see the chain link fence around the area.  Being that it was a school day, there were several cars in the parking lot, and she knew that there would be more in others.

Hemery was more or less like any other high school of the area.  It was made up of a few buildings connected by covered hallways, and it reflected architecture that dated back to the mid-fifties.  The main building had stone steps leading up to the first floor, and Buffy remembered that was where she was told.   Merrick found her there and told her about the vampires.  It is what started her delusion.  Was Merrick just a hallucination brought on by the delusion?  Was he another man that was just delusional himself?  There were a bunch of kids that went missing around that point in time who were never found as far as she knew.

She paused, staring at the steps.  Remembering Merrick’s death was hard.  The man had killed himself rather than letting Lothos use him against her.  Her first Watcher didn’t want her to have to slay him so he took that choice away.  No, not that choice… that possibility.  A tear ran down her cheek for the departed man, be he hallucination or no.

“Hey, Buffy, are you okay?”  Samantha placed her hand on the blonde’s shoulder, real concern reflected on her face.  “I wouldn’t have had us walk by here if I knew that it’d be an issue…”

“No, I’m just remembering someone from the hallucinations that died….” Buffy said, waving it off.  “He was… a good friend.”

“And the stairs of our high school reminded you of him…. Wait, was this friend like that creepy guy who came up to you after school one day?”  Wait, what?  If Merrick was a hallucination, Sam wouldn’t know about him.  

“What?”  Buffy asked ever so eloquently.

“Yeah, the guy… slightly balding, moustache… I remember now, he was wearing this ugly tweed suit…  I think you walked off with him rather than… What, did he drug you or something?  Did that cause your hallucinations and the… If he hurt you in any way…”  Samantha’s tone went to threatening.

“He didn’t, Sammy…  And he’s dead.  He died a few days before the gym incident.  I’m okay, really.  Let’s go have our lunch.”  Buffy offered her arm to her friend again, and Samantha took it.  The two continued on their way, Buffy barely pausing to give the gym a once-over.  It looked brand new, which given that she’d burned it down six years ago was saying something.

The pair made idle chit-chat as they continued on their way past the school toward the restaurant, but Buffy’s mind wasn’t on the conversation.  Merrick, the man who had told her she was the Slayer in the first place, was _real_.  Independent confirmation placed him at the high school when she remembered him to be.  She didn’t hallucinate his presence.  Maybe she had hallucinated the conversation, seen his death in another light.   Just because Merrick was real didn’t mean that vampires were, but this changed things.  _Quis_ _custodiet ipsos custodes?_

The creepy voice was now speaking in Latin.  Lovely.  What did all of this mean?  If Merrick were truly a real person, if he had approached her at Hemery and she wasn’t the Slayer, why had he come to her specifically?  Merrick’s approach of her only made sense if he were a Watcher and she a Slayer.  But she’d displayed no Slayer abilities here.  She didn’t have the nagging desire to go out and hunt.  She didn’t even remember her dreams, for crying out loud.  Nothing beyond a vague sinking feeling.  Sunnydale was a hallucination.  She had been delusional thinking that she was the Slayer, hadn’t she?

* * *

The smells of the restaurant had Buffy’s mouth watering before she and Sam had even come within a block of it.  Sergio’s was a pizza joint.  Well, that was perhaps, putting it mildly.  Sergio’s was _the_ pizza joint.  Where most pizza places around the west coast put their own spin on pizza, adding crazy toppings like kale or squid ink or fried eggs to the pizza, Sergio’s was run by a former Brooklynite who thought that the world deserved to have proper pizza.  The pizza served by Sergio Pettinatto was cooked in a brick oven with only the freshest ingredients.  

It was also a pizza place that Buffy hadn’t been to since Lothos was attacking Hemery.  She remembered what she’d seen outside those nights: the boys, Pike’s friends, who had been turned.  They’d tried to kill her, to kill Pike, and they’d nearly succeeded.  She’d managed to stop them from their goal, to slay them and return them to dust.  Well, that was how she’d remembered it anyway.  Who knows what actually happened there?  

Buffy shook her head and allowed Samantha to lead her into the restaurant.  The girl seemed both comfortable around her and slightly awkward.  Buffy wasn’t entirely sure what the reason for that was, as Sam had always been a close friend.  Maybe it was that she felt like she was treading on eggshells given Buffy’s tenuous grasp on sanity.  _She holds her heart in front of her.  Delicious_.

And once again, her tenuous grasp on sanity managed to assert itself in a creeptastic way.  Buffy smiled at her friend.

“So, one pizza for the two of us to split?”  Buffy asked.  “You good with meat lovers?”

Samantha nodded.  “We’ve got plenty of exercise ahead of us when we get to the pier.  They’ve built a whole amusement park there since you…”

“Oh neat.  Probably be better than trying to swim in the weather anyway.”  Buffy said, ignoring the elephant.  “Besides, as nice as the water would be, it would be kinda off without everyone else there.  The pier should be fun though; I haven’t been down to Santa Monica since I was a kid.”

“They’ve got the nicest Ferris Wheel there.  You can see the beach and a good part of Santa Monica from up top.  You can even get a good glimpse at the Asylum.”

Buffy nodded and was about to reply to that when the Waiter came to their table and took their orders.  As her gaze followed the waiter, she noticed a familiar brown-haired man sitting at a table near them.  Lint se- Lindsey McDonald had a beer sitting on the table in front of him along with a folded up newspaper.  His eyes locked with hers, and he gave her a smirk.

“Asylum, that’s the club in Santa Monica, right?”  Okay, so he was cute.  That didn’t mean that she was going to ditch her friend for him.  Chicks before… yeah, that.  Even if Lindsey didn’t look all that much older than her, she was here with Sammy.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty awesome club, but it doesn’t open until around eight.  It’s an eighteen and older club, so we can both get in, and shouldn’t have to worry about drinking.”  Sammy was smiling a bit, and Buffy shook her head.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be drinking much.  I think that I’m not supposed to drink with my medicine and the last few times I drank I got all weird and wiggy.  I don’t want to wig out and go all crazy Buffy on you.”  Buffy said to ward off something.  _Beer good.  Foamy.  Blood better, always about the blood.  Drink up, for though you will see the Dawn, the sun is out of reach._   

That one sounded suspiciously like her own voice.   At least initially.  The hallucination was just _wrong_ at times.  Though she had to admit it was disturbingly insightful as well.

“Last few times, Buff? I didn’t think that they let the patients at the hospital have alcohol.”  Sammy said.

“Oh… it was Sunnydale.  The first time I drank there I went all Cave Buffy, and tried to jump one of my friends there.  The next few times… I did jump…”  _Now pet, are you going to really talk like you were completely unwilling?_ Buffy caught a whiff of cigarette smoke and- 

Sammy waved it off, distracting her.  “Now, I’m sure your reaction to alcohol here will be different than how you hallucinated it, but yeah, with you on your meds, it might not be a good idea.”

Buffy nodded and she noted that Lindsey was standing up to do something at the exact moment that what looked like their pizza was being carried behind his chair.  The brunette backed his chair into the server’s leg, tripping him up.  The server tried to save himself and the pizza, but he couldn’t help but fall forward, and the pizza went flying toward Buffy and Sammy’s table only to land cheese side down on the chair opposite Sammy.   It was pure reflex that had Buffy bring up the plate that had been laid down to shield her friend and herself from the sauce splatter.

“I’m so sorry, sir, ladies.” The waiter began.  “I’ll get them to replace it immediately, and it will be on the house.”

 

“Nah, don’t worry about it.  Just add their meals to my bill, and the cost of the extra pizza.”  Lindsey waved it off.  “The accident was my fault anyway.”

The waiter nodded and rushed off toward the kitchen.  _Scurry, rat, scurry, make the pie in a hurry.  Get the blood pumping, get it boiling bright.  At the right temperature, it will set alight._

Poetic. Oh, hey, those were dimples.  Honest to goodness dimples just made the man’s smile all the brighter when he turned them toward her and Sammy.  Lint sea.  Lindsey! That’s right.  That was his name… and he was talking to them just now.

“… don’t mind.  It was an honest accident and it was my fault.  Samantha and… Buffy, right?”  Buffy nodded.  She guessed that the words that she missed when she was distracted by him were something on the order of “I hope you” as that fit into what he had said.  “You know, Buffy, this would be the second time that we’ve met and both times flying food was involved.  If this happens a third time, I’d be detecting a pattern.”

 

“Oh, what sort of pattern?”  Buffy asked.

“That’s the question, isn’t it?  You aren’t stalking me, are you?”  Lindsey said with a grin.

Sammy spoke up at that moment.  “We’re heading toward pier after here.  This was on the way and it has good food.  The only way we’d be stalking you is if you were doing the same.  Now, Mr. McDonald, why are you here?”

Lindsey turned his smile to Sammy, but Buffy could tell that it wasn’t working, for good reason too.  Lindsey had two things against him when it came to Sammy, one was his gender, and the second was…  _Some kine are possessive of others.  In the wild, kine rarely can bring themselves to share with anyone._

“Well, I’m in Santa Monica for some case research.  I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of the case, but my employer recently acquired some items that she is unsure of their authenticity.  I’m looking into the legal background of those whom she acquired them from, and if necessary, will bring them to court over the damages done in the process.”

“Thought you said you couldn’t tell us any details.”  Sammy crossed her arms.  

“He didn’t, really.  We don’t know who his client is, what the items she bought are, and who she bought them from.  I’m sure there’s a reason for that.”  Buffy said.

“Client-lawyer confidentiality.  It’s not _fully_ required by law, but it’s professional.  Anyway, I’m going to head out.  While you’re in Santa Monica, if you get the chance, the two of you should check out the Asylum.  It’s the kind of club that I think the two of you would enjoy.”  Lindsey smiled again.  “Maybe we might even run into each other.  When I’m in this part of town, I like to stop by there for a drink… Let’s just make sure that we don’t literally run into each other, please.”

Buffy nodded.  “I’ll do my best, but your body is so big and obstacle-y.  It’ll take some- _Slayer-_ good reflexes to avoid…”

“That’s all I ask, ladies.”  Lindsey stood up and pulled some bills from his wallet, leaving them on the table he came from.  “Unfortunately, I have a meeting in half an hour, otherwise I’d stick around, show you the real Santa Monica.”

Buffy snorted.  “A Texan showing native Californians around Santa Monica?  If you could stick around, Lindsey, we’d be showing you.  We’re from here and are all knowledgy about all things around here.”

Lindsey laughed.  “Guess so, ma’am.”  He gave the pair a tip of a nonexistent hat before heading out of the restaurant.

As soon as Lindsey was out of sight, Buffy turned to Sammy, “He called me ‘ma’am!’  Quick, Sammy, do I have Mom hair?  I don’t, do I?  I don’t look like a ma’am!  I’m a miss.  Not a ma’am…”

Sammy smiled and placed a finger on Buffy’s lips and one on her own, stalling the rant.  “Buffy, you look great, better than great, even.  Now, let’s eat our pizza when it gets here, and then go continue to look great together at the pier.  I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you.”

Sammy’s fingers were soft on her lips, and- no, it couldn’t be that.  If she was wrong about what she thought, she could ruin the friendship between the two of them, and that was just unacceptable this soon after she’d gotten out of the hospital.  Sammy was her only friend, and as such, she needed to stay that way.  Going and finding Willow and Xander, assuming that either of them were actually real and not figments of her active imagination, just wasn’t feasible so long as she lived with her parents.  She and Sammy had to remain friends, _just_ friends.  For both of their sakes.

* * *

It hadn’t taken long for the pizza to be remade and them to finish it off.  With their bill handled already by Lindsey, once they finished, they headed out toward the pier.  Bus fare wasn’t all that expensive, and soon enough, they could see the top of the Ferris wheel from their moving vantage point.

The Santa Monica Pier had certainly expanded since Buffy had spent her time in the hospital.  The famous carousel, _Santa Monica Looff Hippodrome,_ built in 1909, had been joined by a Ferris wheel, a few arcades, a wooden roller coaster, and a number of smaller amusement park rides.  Sammy regaled her friend about the opening as the pair made their way from the bus stop toward the entrance.  The _Hippodrome_ played its jaunty tune, and the smell of funnel cake wafted toward them. 

“Come on, Buffy, we should do the Wheel first, and then the _Hippodrome_.  I know it’s a little lame, but it’s a bit of our history.” 

“Thus we must bask in its lame-y goodness, I understand, Sammy.  Sure, we can do that, and I think I hear the screams of a roller coaster calling to me.  We’re here to have fun, right?”  Buffy smiled at her friend, and then shifted to a frown as something caught her eye.  No, it couldn’t be that.  This was going to be her nice day out with her friend, and this _wasn’t Sunnydale_.   

“What’s wrong, Buffy?”  Sammy couldn’t be exposed to that sort of thing if she saw what she thought she did.  And if she didn’t really see it, it was simply a part of her crazy, and Sammy really didn’t need to see the nothing.

“Nothing, Sammy…  It’s nothing… Thought I saw something over there.”  Why couldn’t she stop her mouth there?  _Sight, sound, life and death all around…_   She didn’t.  Nothing was in the makeshift alley between the Ferris wheel and the Hippodrome.  She had to have been certain on that.

“What did you see?  It doesn’t look like nothing…”  Damn it, Sammy, leave it alone.  Buffy didn’t want to go into that alleyway and find what might be there, what she knew was there.  It was waiting to ruin the day, and… Sammy was following her gaze.  Damn it.  “Buffy, is that…?”

Buffy had no choice but to follow 

Buffy had no choice but to follow her friend as Sam went into the alley.  It really was a pretty secluded area.  The Hippodrome lied inside the building to the left of them, separated by a solid wall, and a fence separated the Ferris Wheel’s area from it.  The entrance to the Ferris Wheel cars laid on the opposite side to where they were looking, and it looked like this alley usually was used for maintenance, likely done after the park had closed for the day, given what the pair found.

Sammy’s face was turning white.  Damn.  It was real.  Buffy hadn’t wanted what she saw to be real.  The hand laid in the center of the alleyway attached to an arm that had been severed at the elbow.

“I-It’s alright… it must be a prop or something for the haunted house...  Or someone lost their fake arm….”  Sammy sounded nervous.  Who wouldn’t be?  After all, it wasn’t often that one got to see something like this.    _Arms and ears and legs and nose…._   Okay, now the creepy voice was misquoting song lyrics for children.  … It even sounded like a child this time.

“Someone lost a hell of a lot more than that…”  Buffy could see other body parts strewn further down, a man’s torso, a leg, a foot, an ear….  She couldn’t see the head, but it had to be somewhere around.  Her eyes flicked around the alley.  Scuff marks on the dumpster and the ground near the base of the fence indicated some sort of struggle.  A slight bit of blood spatter speckled among the rust on the fence.

“I… It’s… what, it’s I… Buffy, I don’t know…”  Sammy must have spotted the torso.  Great.  This was supposed to be a fun day out for the two of them, but it appeared that even in the real world, the dead chose to interrupt her days of fun.   She needed to calm Sammy down.  Wigging out about the dead body wouldn’t help the situation.

“Sammy, I know that things are all disturbing, and it has you seriously wigged.  I’m going to be honest, this is _really_ wiggy for me too.”  What was missing about the scene though?  If the victim died here, and he was torn apart here, something should be here that wasn’t….   “The cops!  We need to call the cops, and let them know about the body.  Sammy, I think I saw a payphone over by the funnel cake.  You should also get something to drink.”

That’s right.  It was the job of the police to deal with something like this.  She wasn’t the Slayer, and this was probably the work of some sick person.  She’d just stay with the scene until Sammy managed to get the cops called and security over to help secure the crime scene.  The police, presumably, were competent enough to solve a murder case like this one. 

“O-okay, Buffy.  I’ll go call them... What are you going to do?”  Good.  Sammy was a good friend, worrying about her right now.  It was up to her to return the friendship that the girl offered.

“I’ll make sure nobody comes in until you get park security or the cops over here.  I’d come with you, but somebody needs to make sure that the scene isn’t disturbed further.”  Buffy said, trying to offer a comforting smile to Sammy.  _The headless are always such great conversationalists.  Terrible listeners though._

“Be careful, Buffy.  I don’t like leaving you here alone.” Sammy’s face, though still ashen white from what she’d seen, managed to convey the amount of worry she had put into that statement.  Sammy didn’t know as much about Sunnydale as her parents did, but she knew enough. 

Buffy pat Sam on the hand and nodded.  “I’ll be careful.  Now go, get the cops.  This won’t stay unnoticed forever, and people probably saw us come in.”

At that, Sammy scurried out of the alleyway, leaving Buffy alone with the dead man and her thoughts.   Cigarette smoke started to filter in through her nostrils as she looked over the alleyway.

“Funny, innit?”  She could feel his breath on her ear as she continued to examine the alley.  She knew if she turned, she’d spot the bit of Sunnydale that seemed to have come home with her.  “Bird like that, having a crush on you, Slayer?  There’s no bloody way you didn’t notice it.”

“Leave it, Spike.”  Buffy ground out as she stepped toward the body parts, careful not to touch anything to disturb the scene.  The way they were strewn about, it was almost as if a wild animal had attacked the person, but something about the way the parts laid in the street had her sure that this was no animal.

“I mean, a bloke has a right to know when he’s being replaced.  So, you like Glenda and Red now, pet? Having some girly fun times?  Won’t deny that being replaced like that makes me feel all warm and gooey inside.  Well, maybe a little more than that.”  Spike stayed behind her, letting her continue to look around.  “’Course, it doesn’t matter much, does it, luv?  Like her or not, she’s your mate, and relationships change things.”

“I said leave it, Spike.”  Buffy growled out.  She knew she was missing something, something that made her spidey-sense tingle.  She just couldn’t put her finger on it, especially as she shouldn’t even have said spidey-sense.  “If you aren’t going to be helpful, maybe you should just go away.”

“Now, I can’t do that, Slayer, can’t bloody make me.  But that thing you keep missing, where’s the blood?”  _Arm’s bleed, torsos too.  Kine are sweet and so are you_.

Buffy glanced around the alleyway.  Crime like this… dismemberment like this… it’s messy work.  She’d encountered similar scenes in Sunnydale.  When the vampires weren’t the ones doing the dismembering, there usually was a lot more blood, significantly so.  Vampire dismemberment scenes by contrast, similar to this one, were nigh bloodless.  Vampires rarely tended to waste blood by letting someone bleed out.  It just didn’t make sense to do.

“No blood.  They could have drained the victim before they dismembered him.”  Buffy said, glancing back toward where she’d heard Spike’s voice, catching only a glimpse of the black coat before that.

“You’ve seen the alley.  Bloke put up a bit of a fight.  No time to set up anything elaborate to drain the blood without somewhere to place it.”  Spike was right again.  The scuff marks showed resistance, but they weren’t significant.  “There’s only one way that this bloke could be in the condition he’s in without something very elaborate.”

Another glance back toward Spike’s voice gave her a vision of his game face, fangs extended.  “Vampires.  You’re claiming vampires did this.  Spike, vampires aren’t real.  _You_ aren’t real.” 

There, she laid down the gauntlet.  Vampires couldn’t be real because Sunnydale wasn’t real.  She wasn’t the Slayer.  There was no such thing as vampires, demons, werewolves, living mummies, fairies, and anything else that goes bump in the night.  The world wasn’t filled with such darkness like Sunnydale, her hallucination.  Yet this body had her thinking in other directions.

“That hurts, pet.  I might cry.  Ever think that just because good ole Sunnyhell might not be real (and I’m bloody well not sold on that anyway) it doesn’t mean that nothing is real?  I mean, look at the evidence in front of you, Slayer.”  Maybe he was right.   Maybe the…. If she let her thoughts continue further in that direction, she might have been accepting the presence of the supernatural.  She couldn’t let that happen.  The supernatural couldn’t be real; this was probably the work of some serial killer or something, but every instinct in her screamed that it was the work of something that drank blood.  

“The Slayer is something my mind made up due to the stress of seeing my parents fight.  Vampires aren’t-“ Buffy said with a flat voice.

“The Watcher, luv.  Merrick.  From your girl, ‘e’s real.  If everything was the fault of your mind, wouldn’t ‘e also be that?”  Spike was right.  Even if he wasn’t real, he was right.  Buffy hadn’t really felt like she was all that much weaker than how she felt in Sunnydale, but she had figured that if it were a hallucination, she’d pretty much feel like she had the same strength regardless.  What if the Slayer was real?  Or if it wasn’t, what if vampires were?

“Miss, please step away from the scene.  The police are on their way.”  Buffy looked toward the alley’s entrance, and the smell of burning cigarettes faded to a faint hint.  The park security was a dark-haired Hispanic man.  She could have pretended that she didn’t hear him, but there’d be no point.

“All right.”  Buffy forced out a smile and she stepped up to the security guy. “Where do you want me to go?”

“The police are going to need to speak to you and your friend; I’ll take you somewhere comfortable so you can wait for them.”  Buffy glanced back toward the alley, looking for any sign of Spike’s presence.  Nothing.  He must have just been a hallucination.  She was crazy, after all.

Buffy turned her attention back to the security officer.  “Lead on, MacDuff.” _The Bard said Lay On, and he spoke of fairies.  Mayhap he was a Changeling who knew too much.  Or perhaps he was simply a wordy kine._

Ignoring the voice, Buffy followed the officer toward where she expected Sam would be waiting.  The two would likely have to answer questions about why they were there and how they found the body, all things she expected and had answers for.  She just couldn’t give the impression that the body was attacked by vampires.  That would probably land her back in the asylum for sure if it got out that she believed that.  What would be worse is if she was right.

* * *

“Please, my friend is back there.  I need to go with you to her…”  Samantha spoke with the two guards that had taken her to an employee only area.  “She’s still with the body that we found, and I don’t think she should be alone…”

“I’m sorry Miss, but you need to stay here.” The guard offered a consoling look.  “My partner will go to assess the situation and retrieve your friend while I dial the police.  What did you say her name was again?”

“Buffy…  Buffy Summers…. I left her there.  She told me that she needed me to go get you.  I should go back for her…  I don’t want to leave her with the…”  Samantha’s stomach heaved as she remembered the gruesome scene.  It wasn’t right to leave her there.  It just wasn’t.

“I’m sure that she’ll be fine.  Just stay calm while I make this call.”  Sam didn’t even really pay attention to the man’s face before he turned away to go make the call; she was too focused on trying to settle her stomach as she worried about Buffy.

Buffy had to be okay.  She couldn’t be relapsing again, God, did she seriously just leave the girl she l-cared for in an alley with a dead man that could trigger her psychosis again? With the body like that was Buffy going to…?  She felt sick.  The state of the body had gotten to her, and God, she just wanted to make sure that Buffy was okay now.  Why did she listen to the girl?  She hadn’t wanted to leave Buffy in that alley; she’d wanted to insist that the girl came with her, but all she’d had to do was turn those lovely green eyes on her.  Samantha couldn’t help but be reassured; Buffy had seemed to know what she was doing, which was odd, considering she’d spent the last six years in an imaginary world in a fucking _mental hospital_.

God, how could she let those beautiful green eyes just turn her to putty to be molded by the girl’s words?  Of course, she hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near that body.  Of course she followed Buffy’s direction; it hadn’t occurred to her to do anything else.  

The body.  She shuddered.  Who could do something like that to a body?  Leave it there dismembered, spread out.  Why would anyone do such a thing, and why was Buffy so okay with looking at the scene?  Just what was in her hallucinations that made her so adept at looking at a scene like that and just being blasé?  She wouldn’t be telling Hank or Joyce about this.  They’d want to have Buffy taken to the hospital again, and she’d just gotten her friend back.  She remembered what it was like the first time Buffy had gotten put away.

Samantha hadn’t been able to go to the dance; she’d been sick in the bed with the flu, but she remembered the aftermath.  The gymnasium had been burned down and her friend, her _best friend_ had been the prime suspect for arson.  Buffy hadn’t directly denied the claims that she’d burned down the gym, but then she hadn’t needed to.  The Summers family lawyer, along with the fact that there was little to no evidence to hold her culpable for the damages managed to keep her friend out of jail.

Of course, the fact that she was the prime suspect was enough to get her expelled from Hemery.  Then, add her breakdown the week afterward…  Buffy had come to Samantha with her stories about the vampires.   She’d told her how they were there, just hiding, biding their time.  She’d said that they were “Children of Caine,” descendants of the first murderer feeding on humans and it was up to her to stop them.  She said that when she died, Sam needed to let her parents know that she was sorry.   Of course she’d had to have been delusional, possibly even suicidal.  Samantha had been worried about her, so she’d told Hank and Joyce.

With Buffy being possibly suicidal, she had been brought to the hospital, and the night staff had 5150ed her.  The look of betrayal on Buffy’s face when she next saw Samantha had paled at the vacant look on Samantha’s next visit.  Sometime during the 72 hour hold, Buffy had fallen into a hallucinatory state.  Sunnydale hadn’t come right away, but it came after the subsequent two week hold.  There had been no choice; her parents had to put her in a facility that could handle her.

It had been her fault then.  She wouldn’t allow that look of betrayal to come back to her precious friend’s face.  Buffy would be back soon enough.  She had to be sane this time.  She couldn’t relapse again.  She’d made it nearly five months last time, and…  Actually, that didn’t really make sense.  Why hadn’t the hospital released her then?  What made this time different from the last?  Buffy relapsed after nearly five months of lucidity last time…  What would cause it this time?

The door to the booth opened up and there she was.  Buffy stood looking none the worse for the wear, and oh God, was that worry on her face?  No no… Buffy wasn’t supposed to be worrying about _her_.  Quickly! She needed to do something about that.

Samantha hugged Buffy when she stepped fully into the booth.  “Oh thank God, I was worried about you.”

“Sammy, I’m fine.  I’ve… I’ve seen worse than that.”  When Samantha released the hug, she noticed Buffy looking slightly away from her eyes for a second before she looked back.  “Now, are _you_ okay?  You didn’t look so hot when you headed off.  What you did can’t have been easy, Sammy.” 

God, the body.   Samantha fought to get her stomach under control.  She needed to put on a braver face for Buffy.  Suppressing a groan, Samantha said, “I’ll… be fine, Buffy.  It’s just a lot to…”

Okay, maybe her stomach would be easier to control after she ran to the trash can and released its contents.  Gods, the body.  She couldn’t stop picturing it, and how could Buffy be okay with it?  What had Buffy’s mind come up with that so inundated her against seeing a body like… like _that_? 

Samantha continued breathing into the trash can, trying to get herself under control as Buffy came to try to calm her down.  “It’s okay Sammy, let it out.  That was an ugly sight…  And we’re going to have to talk about it soon.  It’s okay to wig out now, but when the cops get here, we’re going to have to talk to them.”

 

She could almost picture the look of disgust on Buffy’s face.  It was as if she didn’t like the police, but then, who could blame her with the events at Hemery?  Oh God, that was really a dead person.  He was really dead, and the body parts were spread out and everything.  Samantha turned to hug onto her friend and started sobbing.  

It wasn’t right.  This was supposed to be their fun day.  Buffy was supposed to be spending the entire day doing something with _her_.  Even if she was now closer to her friend than she had been in the past, it wouldn’t be right because of the situation.  The dead guy… whoever he was, deserved better than that.  She wasn’t so self-involved as to say that her grief over the ruined day would be worse than the grief of the guy’s family when they found out how he died.  She sobbed some more.  It just wasn’t _fair_.  She was getting the chance to make it up to Buffy, and…. And…

A knock came on the side of the booth, followed by the clearing of a male throat, indicating the company.  “Sorry, ladies.  The police… they’re here to take your statements if you think you’re ready.”

 

Buffy smiled at the security guard, that same disarming smile she usually used.   “Can we have a minute more?  My friend, she needs to get all…  You know.  Talky.   Serious-y.  That kind of thing.”

Samantha let out a small snort into her sob.   She didn’t know where Buffy got that from.

“See?  Just give us a minute…”  Buffy was gesturing to Samantha now.  “I promise, she’ll be out bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.  Only not so much with the bushy-tail-y bit, and maybe not the bright-eyed bit.  After all, there is that dead guy, and well, we need to give the report.”

“All right.  Just… one minute.  Come out soon, ladies.”  The guard stepped outside, presumably to let the police know.

Once the guard was outside, Buffy pulled Samantha so that she could look her in the eye.  “Right, Sammy…  Oh, you’re a mess.  I think I have some tissues in my purse.”  She pulled them out, and Samantha took them gratefully and began wiping her face.  “Now, Sammy, do you want to talk to the police?”

“D-don’t we need to?  I mean, we saw the b-body, and it was…”  Samantha quickly pressed the tissues to her eyes, wiping up the tears.  

“We _should_ , but I think…  I can keep us from talking to them if you don’t want to talk to them.”  Buffy said with a one-armed shrug.  “It’s up to you, Sammy. If you don’t want to talk, we won’t.  We’ll let them deal with the scene, and we’ll just go.”

“W-what if they don’t want to let us go?”  Samantha’s mind just kept running over worst case scenarios.  Buffy had a history as a juvenile.  What if they thought _she_ was the murderer?

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy.  They can’t keep us.  We’re witnesses, not suspects.”  Buffy stared off past her head for a second again there.  “And if we need to, we’ll get out of there fine.  Trust me.”

Buffy was right, of course, and Samantha couldn’t help but wonder how Buffy planned on getting them away from the police if she deemed it necessary.  She didn’t want…  For Buffy’s own sake… For the sake of the dead guy…

“Let’s talk to the police.”  Samantha heard herself say.  “I-it’s the right thing to do, and then we can be done with it…”

Buffy nodded.  "All right then."

It wasn’t long into the talk with the two officers who had shown up on scene to take their statements that Samantha had begun to regret it.  The officers were thorough in their questioning, often repeating the same questions at different times, and Samantha almost felt like she actually _was_ a suspect at some point.  Then, after a bit, the two officers switched out for detectives who asked more or less the exact same questions.  What time was it when they found the body?  What were they doing in the alleyway?  Why were they here in this park? 

As if it weren’t obvious already.   The worst part was that the questions kept going back to the body, and Samantha could see that Buffy was perfectly calm answering them.  She had decided that she was going to emulate Buffy’s attitude, but deep inside, each time Samantha pictured the body, she couldn’t help but shudder.  It manifested as a quiver in her voice when she spoke about it, and in her sickened tone.  It really was horrifying.

Finally, they were done.  The sun had finished setting half an hour ago and the detectives had given Buffy and Samantha their cards.

“If you think of anything, ladies.  Call that number, and they’ll get a message to us.”  The first detective had said.

“We’ll be in touch.”  The second detective continued.   Samantha hadn’t bothered to learn their names because she really wanted nothing more to do with any of them.  Right now, all she wanted to do was go home. 

“Come on Sammy, let’s go get the bus…”  Buffy grabbed her arm and the two of them made their way out of the pier’s park to get down to the street, where they almost were bowled over by someone.  

Stumbling to her feet, Samantha found herself mesmerized by the beauty of the girl who had almost knocked them over in a hurry.  Like Buffy, she was blonde, but where Buffy had her hair loose, this girl had her hair done up in a set of pigtails.  She wore what looked like gothic make-up that highlighted her pale skin.  Buffy’s skin was a vibrant tan compared to how pale this girl’s skin was, and Buffy hadn’t had the time to develop a tan with her time in the hospital.  The girl’s shirt was tied up, baring her midriff and she wore a hiked up business skirt with some pumps.  

“Oh, sorry… Sorry.  I wasn’t looking where I was going.”  The girl locked eyes with her.  “I hope I wasn’t any trouble.”

“Oh, no trouble at all, right Buffy?”  Samantha said, breaking the eye contact for a second to look at her friend.  

Buffy was mouthing something under her breath…  “Dover of Joneb?”  Whatever, Samantha hadn’t really been the best lip-reader.  She nudged her friend.  “Oh yeah… fine.  Look, we’re on our way to the bus stop.”

“Aww… and without stopping by the Asylum?  Two cuties like you would do great there.  I’m sure you’d be fine.”  The girl, no, the woman locked eyes with Samantha again.  True, the Asylum had been in the plans for the evening when Samantha had planned the day out.  The club was supposed to be hot and pumping, but then that thing happened at the pier.

“We’re just a little tired….” Samantha started.  “The police were-“

“Oh, you were caught up in that little bit?  What’s going on there, dead body or something?”  The girl looked at Buffy and caught something before smiling.  “Yeah, dead body.  Okay, you two are coming to the Asylum then.  I’m not taking no for an answer.  After a day like that, you two need drinks.”

Buffy shook her head slightly.  “I’m not so sure we should…”

Buffy was right.  They really should have been getting home, but a drink did sound very inviting.  “I don’t know…”  Samantha said.

The girl locked eyes with her again.  Such gorgeous eyes they were, pale blue….  She could find herself lost in them.   “Come on.  I guarantee you two will be drinking free all night.  Damn what my sister says.  After a day like that, the two of you need something to take the edge off.”

It made sense.  She really did need something to take the edge off after seeing the body.   It wasn’t…   Drinking and dancing could make the day better, especially if they were with this girl.  “Yeah, okay.  Let’s go to the Asylum, Buffy.   I promise it’ll be fun.”

Buffy looked at her weirdly.  Maybe she wasn’t feeling okay.  “If you’re sure, Sammy.  We’ll go to the Asylum with… what’s your name, miss?”

The woman giggled.  “Oh, I’m sorry… I forgot to introduce myself.   My name’s Jeanette.  I’m one of the owners of the Asylum.  You’ll drink free, I promise.”

* * *

Jeanette.  Daughter of Janus.  All Buffy could remember about Janus was that he was some Roman deity that, according to Giles, Ethan Rayne had called upon when he had turned everyone into their costumes that one Halloween.  The abilities of the noblewoman she had gone as had helped somewhat when it came to passing the French exam she took, but beyond that, she’d gained nothing from the useless woman.   Her mind was wandering.  Why would anyone be called a “daughter of Janus?”  Let alone the “Light” one.

Jeanette, no last name given, at least not yet, had continued to guide Sam and her to the club.  Something about the woman just rubbed at Buffy the wrong way.  It wasn’t her pallid skin, or rather not just that.  The woman owned a nightclub and clearly kept night hours, a tan wasn’t going to be in her cards.  When combined with the makeup she wore, Buffy had seen worse looking girls.  However, something just felt off when Buffy looked at her.  

“… and I told Therese that she really needed to loosen up a bit, get that stick out of her ass.  She should be able to enjoy life a bit more!  Like me!”  Jeanette giggled as she continued leading.   

“Wait, who’s Therese?”  Sam’s voice sounded a little off.  Slightly dreamy, but that could be explained by any number of things.  She did just come off of dealing with the cops who… really, she should have just gotten Sam to ditch them.   They really didn’t have any legal right to keep the pair of them there as long as they did, and Buffy knew they’d just been fishing.   

“Therese is my sister, and the other owner of the Asylum, cutie.”  Jeanette smiled at Sammy, and Buffy swore she saw her friend just light up.  Maybe she should have been happy for her friend, but something itched at the back of her neck when she looked at the blonde.  _The Light Daughter of Janus treads shallow waters with the kine._

Buffy shook her head slightly, and she almost missed the slight quirk of Jeanette’s lips.  Her canines were larger than they should have been.   Vampires were _not_ real.  She was _not_ a Slayer, and she was definitely not jealous of the woman taking her friend’s attention and comforting her better than she had been able to.  To prove that, she’d speak up.

“Therese Voerman?  That’s your sister?  The business owner?”  Buffy remembered the news going into detail a few days after she’d gotten back from the hospital.  

“Yeah, the bitch.   She’s a bit too uptight for my liking, and no matter what I do, she doesn’t want to remove the large stick that has wedged itself so far up her ass.”  Jeanette grinned.  “But, tonight her opinion doesn’t matter.  Only mine does, and cuties, I’d like to-“

“FOUL DEMON FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE!  THE POWER OF THE LORD COMPELS YOU TO BEGONE!  THE DAY OF RECKONING IS UPON YOU!  THE THIRD STIR WITHIN THEIR TOMBS, AND WITH THEM, THE LORD’S POWER COMPELS YOU!”  A homeless man jumped out in front of the group, brandishing a cross at each of them.  He seemed to focus primarily on Jeanette, but he paused in front of Buffy as well.  The cross did nothing, really.  It was a cross.  Maybe if vampires were real, the cross would have burned one, but given that none of the group were vampires, which weren’t real anyway, Buffy knew that this man just had to be delusional.  Like she had been.

Jeanette just smirked and brushed the cross away with her hand, lightly.  “Come on, you two, we’re headed to the Asylum.”

Something still bugged her about Jeanette, but when the girl touched the cross, Buffy stifled a sigh of relief.  Vampires weren’t real, but she couldn’t help but feel like something would have happened there.  Or maybe it should have happened, but nothing did.  _A cross without faith is a lie to save face._

The Asylum itself stood four stories tall, with multiple tiers of windows.  The ground floor had arching pillars supporting an overhang over the door used for entry.   Buffy assumed that the reason the overhang was so long was so that, should a line form to get in, the people in the foremost part of the line could stay dry in inclement weather.  The building was easily far more elaborate than the former warehouse the Bronze had been, but given its owners, she wasn’t entirely surprised.  Jeanette seemed like someone who would like a little bit of eccentricity in the design for a club.  The side of the building had the club’s name painted on while the front had the name up in lights in a jagged font.

“Ladies, I give you my pride and joy, the Asylum!  Now come on, the two of you need a drink, and I need to make sure the music is pumping tonight!”  Buffy almost managed to dodge the arm grab that the other blonde did but was dragged alongside Sammy inside.  The moment the trio stepped into the club, Buffy could intimately sense the difference between this one and the Bronze.  The atmosphere of the Bronze was some sort of weird combination between techno, grunge, and pop-rock, but in here definitely held the gothic vibe.  The music held much more of a techno vibe than the Bronze did though.  

Marble columns decorated the area with small tables in front of the bar.  A few private booths were at the edge of the room, and the circular bar on the far side of the room had several barstools at it.  The Asylum had about as many people in it as the Bronze did on a Friday night, and it looked like it could handle double that amount.  Some of the people danced, others drank, and others were talking to one another.  All in all, the only real difference between the Bronze and this club simply was that the Asylum didn’t have any demonic visitors. 

Buffy doubted she’d have to do anything more than try and keep Sammy from…  well, doing something she’d regret.  Still, Samantha was an adult, and in theory, so was she, so she’d deal with her weird feelings about the club owner and let herself be led to the bar.  

Jeanette sat the pair of them down and turned to the bartender.  “These two drink free all night, it’s on me.  If Therese asks, tell her it’s my choice.”

After the bartender nodded, the Light Daughter of Janus turned toward Buffy and Sam.  Buffy really couldn’t dispute that name in her head so it stuck.  “So, what’re you two drinking?”

“Whiskey, neat, please.”  Buffy didn’t really like whiskey, but she definitely needed something, and there was no way she was going to trust the beer in this place.   At least she could watch where the whiskey came from, and it was Spike’s drink of choice.  _Beer bad, whiskey decent, red succulent vitae best…_

“Buffy, are you sure you should be drinking?  Aren’t you on some medication?”  Oh, _now_ Sammy decided to be worried about her.   She’d been so distracted by miss shows too much cleavage, since she showed up.  Sammy finally had the opportunity to worry, and it was about _drinking_.  

“The pharmacist never said that the meds shouldn’t be taken with alcohol.  Besides, I’m only going to sip it, Sammy.”  Buffy tried not to let her irritation hit her voice.  “Maybe you should order something yourself.”  

“Oh, no need.  I know what this cutie needs right now.  Esteban, give her the house special.”  Jeanette said with a grin.  “Can’t tell you everything that’s in it, but it’s got vodka, triple sec, sour mix, amaretto, and a few other specialties that make it just the perfect spot.   You’ll be forgetting about your afternoon and focusing on enjoying the party…”  

Sammy, who had been looking like she was going to say something back to Buffy, softened at that.  “Sounds good to me, Jeanette…”

“Now if the two of you will excuse me for just one second, I need to make a run by the DJ booth.”  Jeanette winked at Sammy, her fingers lingering just for an extra second on the girl’s shoulder, letting Buffy feel just like a third wheel.  Great.  

When the blonde was out of sight, Buffy turned to her friend.  “Are you feeling alright, Sammy?”

Sammy had been staring after Jeanette’s departure, and she blinked before turning to Buffy.  “Huh?  Oh yeah, I’m fine, Buffy.  I’m great.”

“Are you sure?  You’re acting…. Well, it’s a little off.  Spacey, adoration-y, or something.”  Buffy couldn’t let up on this.  

“I’m not sure what you mean.  Isn’t this great though?  We’re in here, drinking for free…  Bit of an unfortunate name, but isn’t Jeanette great?”  Sammy was gushing.  Maybe she just had a crush on Jeanette, and the woman’s flirting was reciprocated.   Sammy was a lesbian, after all, but… something wasn’t right about this.  She’d think Sammy was drugged, but their drinks hadn’t even come yet.

 

“Jeanette…  yeah, I guess.  If you’re into that kind of thing.”  Buffy honestly wasn’t all that sure Sammy was.  Sure, she was a lesbian, and Buffy was cool with that, but something seemed off about Jeanette.

“You don’t like her?” Sammy’s voice sounded a little incredulous.   

Buffy shrugged.  “I’m not sure...”

“Ladies, your drinks.  Whiskey neat for the lovely blonde, and a Screwball Cocktail for the brunette.”  The bartender placed a snifter full of amber liquid down in front of Buffy and a swirled mix of orange, pink and yellow topped with a cocktail umbrella in a fluted glass in front of Sammy.   Buffy sniffed hers and closed her eyes.

Despite how bad that relationship, or whatever it was, with Spike was for her, she couldn’t help but recall how it made her feel.  Spike made her feel, helped her through things, and he did things that Angel and Riley just couldn’t do for her.  She turned away from the bar as she opened her eyes, and had to blink twice.  A tall dark-haired pale man stood on the balcony looking down at the dance floor.  His hair was slicked back, exposing his larger forehead, and on his arm was a lovely blonde.  She only noticed them because they stood out with their beauty… and she recognized them, of course.  They had to be hallucinations because that’d be the only way they could even be around.  Angel and Darla just didn’t exist.  

Buffy blinked a couple times, and they were gone.   Hallucinations, of course.  Just like Spike had been earlier in the day.  She was still crazy, and that deserved a drink.  Buffy downed her glass of whiskey like it was water and placed it back on the bar.

“Sammy,”  Oh wow…  That was some strong whiskey.  “Sammy, I don’t think we should be here… we should probably head back like we were planning.”

“No… we’ll be fine, Buffy.  I want to stay.”  Sammy had a straw for her drink and was sipping… and oh look, there was more whiskey for her.  The music in the background changed some, becoming a bit up tempo.

“I’m not so sure that it’d be a good idea.  We were-“

“Aww, lighten up, blondie.  Maybe have a bit more whiskey there…”  How had Jeanette managed to sneak up on them?  Oh right, club music.  The other blonde turned to Samantha.  “I want you to stay, cutie.   If your friend wants to leave, maybe we should let her…”

Sammy looked a little frazzled for a second there, and… was that a blush on her cheeks?  Goddess, she needed a night of clubbing anyway, so she’d do something.   “Don’t worry about it, Sammy.  I’ll stick around for a bit.”

Buffy downed her second glass of whiskey.  Surprisingly smooth.  She really didn’t know if it was a good idea to be drinking with her meds, but this was definitely needed.  A glance at Sammy told her all she needed to know.  Sammy and the Light Daughter of Janus were flirting and almost completely ignoring her presence.   Third wheel indeed.  Right.  There was one thing to do. 

Buffy placed her glass back on the bar and strode over to the dance floor and did what came natural.  She gave in to the music, let it clear her head, moving her body in a way that let her drown out whatever it was she felt.   The beat thrummed through her, and she just let her feet and body move as necessary.  She felt no embarrassment, and she knew how hot she was.   

Suddenly, there were two people dancing with her.  They just came up and situated themselves so that they created a Buffy Sandwich, but they gave her room to move out of the way if she wanted.   A glance behind her showed her Lindsey McDonald dressed in a dark silk shirt and slacks.  His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he moved around her.  The woman in front of her danced like she did, only every move seemed seductive.   Buffy had to look up slightly to lock eyes with the blonde, and the lights seemed to gleam off of her porcelain skin.   Hmmm… her eyes were green.  

“I can see why you interest him…”  The woman’s voice carried to her ears like a whisper, despite the music.  _Temptress of beauty, Daughter of Agrippa_ , _how sweet your voice carries_.  “Come, you beautiful thing, I must know your name.”

Buffy normally had little interest in women, but something about this one was alluring.  Perhaps it was her red punk leather coat and tight leather pants.  Perhaps it was the way she danced, so like Faith that it almost hurt.  Or perhaps it was simply the shape of her face, her lips… she could almost ignore Lindsey behind her, at least until he leaned in.

“Come on, let’s get to somewhere a little quieter… so we can talk…”  The woman, the Daughter of Agrippa’s eyes flashed to where she assumed Lindsey’s face was in a look of reproach, but she smiled. 

“Yes, the dance floor isn’t great for introductions, figura mea, please come with us.”  Buffy knew Lindsey, so she was fairly confident that at the least she would be in some good company.  This woman though, something about her had Buffy just… Well, something.  She was fascinating in the way that Jeanette wasn’t.  

Buffy let herself be led by the Daughter of Agrippa and her Lint Sea to a private booth on the balcony that overlooked the bar.  She could see that Sam and Jeanette were still going at it… oh, it had advanced to more than just flirting.  On the one hand, go Sammy!  On the other, hey!  Sammy was _her_ friend, and there was no friendship approval of the Jeanette pairing.  Jeanette was nothing like Tara, and Sammy needed someone like Tara for her.  

“Do their actions displease you, figura mea?”  The woman placed a hand on Buffy’s shoulder, and it was oddly comforting.   “Is the dark-haired one your friend?”

“Yeah… Sammy… she’s probably one of my only friends that I have left.”  Buffy said as she sat down.   

Lindsey shook his head.  “Looks like Jeanette’s at it again.  Don’t worry too much about Samantha, Buffy.  She’ll be happy for tonight.”

“Happy for tonight?  You make it sound like she’s... Like Jeanette is....  Oh, I am so wigging out about Sammy, it’s ridiculous.”  Buffy shook her head.

“Buffy, it is a beautiful thing, your worry over your friend, but it is misplaced.  She is a grown woman, is she not?”  The Daughter of Agrippa had a point.  

“Yes, she is…”  Buffy said, trailing off.

“And she is capable of her own decisions?”

“Yes.”  Buffy saw where the woman was going with this, and understood.  It didn’t make it right, but she understood.

“Then, figura, we should let her make her own decisions and you should allow yourself to relax.  Lindsey, my friend, could you please go fetch some drinks?”  This woman was…  She’d be alone with her.  It wasn’t necessarily the worst of ideas, and she wanted to get to know her a bit more.   Something about her just screamed class.  _Oh, what games we play.  The lions feast, and the chariots burn, and as the city cries, she has turned._

Lindsey nodded.  “Of course, Julia.  I’ll get you your usual, Buffy?”

“Whiskey, neat.  Jeanette said I’m drinking for free tonight…”  Buffy trailed off.

“Do not trouble yourself, figura.  You would not have paid even if the hostess had not given that guarantee.”  Julia smiled imperiously, a contrast to the clothing she wore.  She seemed too… something… for her clothes.  “After all, it is my choice to serve beauty.”

Flattering Buffy did help, but something was definitely off about Julia.  Still, she wasn’t sure what it was other than attractiveness.   Julia, Daughter of Agrippa had a bit of a grippa on her arm.  Light touch.   She also was an intriguing conversation partner.  Buffy almost didn’t notice when Lindsey got back with the drinks, at least not until Julia had offered her a sip of her own.   Julia was Italian by descent, and she clearly had some other ancestors in there, but her accent caused shivers.  

Buffy went to take another sip from her own glass and noticed that it was empty.  She glanced down at the bar… Sammy was gone.  Sammy was gone!  Buffy made to stand.

“Figura, Buffy… what is wrong?”  Julia sounded a little worried.   

“I don’t know where Sammy is… Jeanette’s not at the bar either…”  Buffy intended on saying it that way, and it seemed like Julia and Lindsey got the gist at least.  

“They’re probably upstairs.  Jeanette likes to bring people up there sometimes.  Don’t worry Buffy, Sam’s just doing… well, her thing.”  Lindsey covered his face with his right hand.   “Damnit, Voerman.  Of all the girls and guys…”

Buffy wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear that last bit.  Julia tugged on her hand and stood up herself.  The taller woman smiled down at her.

“Let’s go somewhere a little more private, you and I, figura.   I know you’re worried about your friend, which is why Lindsey will stay here.   He’ll make sure she gets home safely.”  Julia brushed a hand across Buffy’s face lightly.   “And you and I will get to know one another…  better, I think.”

Buffy smiled and leaned into the brush.   Perhaps this wouldn’t be a bad thing.  A new experience, an experiment, and it was with a beautiful woman who thought she was beautiful too, despite her outfit.  With Lindsey there to get Sammy home safe, this could work.   “Yeah, let’s go, Julia…”

“Are you sure?”  Lindsey asked, looking at Julia.  She nodded slightly.  “You… All right.   I’ll make sure she gets home safe, Buffy.   Don’t lose my card.”

Buffy barely acknowledged that statement as she was being led downstairs.  “Mm-hmm, no card lossage…” 

“Come now, figura….”  Julia continued to lead her outside the Asylum, and toward somewhere else.  “I want to show you something…”

* * *

 

The night was young, and there were so many kine out there to feed upon.  So many out there to tear out their throats and feast on their life-giving vitae.  He had done so for centuries.  Of course, there would be plenty of time to feed this night, on one of the captive kine, or perhaps he would go out and take what was deservedly his instead.  Lothos frankly did not care which he did when he would feed this evening, as his plans still needed some time before they were ready to execute.  

A glance at the desk before him had reports piled high.  The Tzimisce bishop, Andrei, would be heading to Los Angeles soon to take over the branch of Kindred there.  Lothos was sure that whatever the Tzimisce had planned, it would inevitably cripple any Camarilla plans in that area.  Pity that his own aspirations for Los Angeles had ended the way they did.  

A knock came on the door to his stone chamber.   “Enter.”

Lothos adjusted his suit jacket and brushed back his hair as the door opened revealing a dark-skinned kindred dressed in a dark suit with a red collared shirt and matching tie.  In his hand, he held a legal-sized envelope.  

“Sir, this came for you.”  Lothos held out his hand, and the young Kindred… what was his name again?  Track… Trap… Trok?  No matter, he placed the envelope in the hand of the Lasombra elder.

Opening the envelope, Lothos slid its contents out onto the table: a photograph and a note.   After quickly glancing at the photograph, Lothos opened the note to read it, and with each passing line, his smile grew.  

“Close the door.”  Lothos ordered, and the dark-skinned Kindred quickly followed.  “Who else has seen this?”

“Nobody, sir.  I picked up the envelope myself, and I brought it to you.”  Good.  That was good.  This one could be a danger, or he could be someone loyal.   Lothos had not given the Embrace to this young Kindred himself, no.  Trick, that was his name, had been assigned as an underling by the Sabbat.  He had been useful so far, but Lothos did not truly believe him loyal.  That could be fixed.

“Good.  Now, Mr… Trick, was it?”  At his nod, Lothos continued.  “You are of clan Tremere.  Why are you here in the Sabbat?”

“The Sabbat have it right, sir.   The Camarilla are backwards, rule-toting blaggards.  They hold their precious masquerade sacrosanct, and woe be unto you if you violate it.   The twenty-first century is upcoming, we need to embrace the tide, not be more careful to hide within it.   We are by nature better than the kine.”  The young vampire sounded impassioned.  Good.  

“Ah… I see why you are not with the Orthodoxy.”  Lothos glanced down at the photo again.  “I need loyal subjects for what I have planned, Mr. Trick.   What I will need from you goes beyond a simple viniculum.  You and those under you will undergo a Vaulderie with each other, but I will need a Blood Oath.”

“You’ll have it, sir.  Can I ask what your plans are?”  Trick sounded interested.  Good.

“Tell me, Mr. Trick, do you know what a Slayer is?”  Lothos picked up the photograph and began to play with it in his hand.

“Is that just another term for hunter, sir?”  Trick asked.  

“No, no…”  Lothos looked at the photograph again.  The girl had nearly destroyed him six years ago, and that made her all the more desirable.  Buffy Summers….

 

* * *

_“Slayers aren’t like hunters, Mr. Trick.   They’re different.  Special.”_

The motel door slammed open, and Buffy could not stop kissing Julia.  A hunger for the Italian woman was going through her, and she just couldn’t stop.  It was so nice.   The pale woman knew exactly what she was doing.

_“One girl in all the world, or so the story goes.   Where a Hunter is imbued by their virtue… A Slayer… she has Power.   She is nearly Kindred, but she hunts us.”_

 

The hotel bed.  They’d made it to the bed, but she couldn’t keep going.   This was too much.  This was real, very real, and Buffy was going to be exposed to this with a woman before she ever had the chance with a real man who wasn’t a hallucination.  She couldn’t care less at the moment.  Julia occupied her every thought, her presence even drowning out that sickly whisper.  Hers.

_“I can see you wondering, Nearly Kindred?  What do I mean?  In my research, I have found that a Slayer embodies many aspects of Kindred already…  She unconsciously uses disciplines, and she is stronger than a normal kine.  Some, those who study these girls, believe them to be living descendants of the Dark Father, with aspects of his blood’s curse manifesting...”_

Buffy gasped out as pain followed by intense pleasure suffused through her body.  Julia’s mouth was at her throat, and her focus could be on nothing else as she squirmed under the Italian woman’s intense embrace.  Even the fleeting thought of what Julia was doing to her, of what Julia probably was…  Buffy couldn’t focus on anything but how good it felt.   She was too far gone.

_“Imagine now, what might happen if a Slayer were Embraced.  Better yet, imagine if she were Embraced by one of us.  If any of that is true, how much Power would she hold as a neonate?   How much power would she gain?”_

Buffy’s vision began to blur as the blood loss took its toll on her body.  Her breaths became shallow and ragged, and she squirmed less.  She couldn’t focus.  She wouldn’t… It was…  She didn’t want to die.  _Drink and live.  It’s about the blood_.

_“I intend to make the Slayer mine.  With her at my side, we will make the Sabbat strong.  Gehenna will no longer be something to fear, simply prepare for.”_

Julia held open Buffy’s mouth and cutting her own wrist, she thrust it into her mouth.   With Buffy’s last living thoughts, she couldn’t help but swallow it down.   And then she drank a bit more.  More than one drop.  She couldn’t help herself, but she didn’t follow it when Julia removed the wrist… instead she collapsed onto the bed, losing consciousness.

_“The current Slayer is Buffy Anne Summers, and she resides in Los Angeles.  She will be mine, Mr. Trick.”_

* * *

So many voices.   So many people talking all at once.  It… what happened?  Why is everyone so loud?  Why can’t she think straight?   Where was she?  Why was it so dark?  _To eliminate the dark, one merely has to turn on the lights_.

That voice had the right idea.  Where were the lights?  Were her eyes even open?  Blinking, Buffy, yes that was her name, Buffy opened them.  Her eyes adjusted to the light.   How long had she been asleep?  Was it morning already?  No…  She wasn’t at home.   She wasn’t…  Where was here?

Buffy looked around the room.  Hotel room.   A glance at the ground had her revise that statement.  _Motel_ room.  No self-respecting hotel had that sort of carpet.  Puce and green together?  It was adorable, but surely, nobody would ever want to do that as décor.   Well, she might.  There was a niggling voice that said it was ugly, but she wanted to ignore that one and listen to the ones that thought it was pretty, but they all agreed that this wasn’t a hotel.  The ground was messed up… knocked over wine glasses a green wall…  

Sitting in a chair facing the bed was _Master_ … Julia.  That’s what she was doing last night, or rather who.  Julia was nicely clothed though, and… for that matter, so was she… but her jeans were torn off at mid-thigh and she wasn’t wearing her sports bra.   Wait…  She was with Julia and then Julia bit her neck, and Buffy had yet to breathe once since waking up.   Was… Was she a va-

The door slammed open, and a gargoyle-like demon threw a wooden stake with great precision at Julia, impaling her through her chest.  Wait, she didn’t dust she must not have been a-

Buffy felt her own chest get penetrated by a wooden stake, and she knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun times. What was originally going to be the prologue stretched into 25k words total. I hope I can keep this up for the remainder of the fic.


	3. Chapter Three: The New Normal

Darkness.  All she could see was darkness as she got over the initial shock of having a stake driven through her heart.   Her limbs wouldn’t respond to her commands.   She knew she’d had her eyes open when they staked her, and since she only felt the phantom pain of the stake she still had in her heart and a severe hunger, she knew… Well, she didn’t really know anything.   Was she dead?  _Yes/No drinking in the dark._    Two voices at once, that was new.    A normal person stabbed through the heart with anything would be dead or dying.   She didn’t seem to be in any danger of bleeding out, but she knew she felt different, and she _couldn’t move anything_.   

Listening.  She had to listen, focus on what was heard; focus on what she felt from her nonresponsive limbs.   Rumbling…  She was in a car, her arms were bound behind her.    _They fear what they cannot understand, and they yearn for it._   There!  Voices that weren’t in her head.   Probably.   Someone out there was speaking to someone else.   Male voices, nervous tones.    She needed to hear them.   _Needed_ to hear them.

“Don’t feel right, doing this to a fledge.   I mean look at her, she’s all helpless and new.”   Fledge.  Fledgling?   Was he talking about her? 

“Orders are orders, and we need to follow his.   You don’t want the Sheriff on your ass, right?”   Sheriff.  She needed to file that away…  _Nottingham has come to play with the Jester, and Marie Antoinette shall lose her head.  Let them drink blood, not eat cake, for Pete’s sake._

“Why’s the Prince so adamant about this one?”   First voice was coming from the Driver’s side.   She had to be in a panel van or something.    She wasn’t in the trunk, she was leaned against a wall.    Prince sounded interesting.

“He needs to make sure LA knows that it belongs to him, to us.   We’re back and we’re not going away.   Anyone has a problem with it…  Well, you know why the Sheriff’s in the other van.”   The other van must have had Julia in it.   Sheriff of what though?  Why would a sheriff of anything come in and stake her and Julia?

“Yeah.  I wouldn’t want to chance that stake coming loose in there.   Still, I’m not sure the Prince should…”

“Watch it, brother.   Prince LaCroix is someone we _don’t_ want to piss off.   Between us and the fledge back there?  I pick us.”  Second time she’d been called a fledge.   Buffy didn’t like it.    She was a person, not a thing.   She might not have been a normal person, but she definitely wasn’t… she couldn’t have been.  It just wouldn’t be fair.  

“Yeah, you’re right.   We’re here anyway.” 

The van stopped, and she could hear the front doors open.  Still couldn’t see.  There must have been a bag over her head or something.   She could hear fine.    Damn vampires.   She had known they were real, no matter how much she denied it.   Grout must have been one too.   That… Fuck.  Julia… When she saw the woman again, she was totally going to have to make with the explainy or Buffy would…   Huh.   She didn’t want to stake the woman.   To be fair, she did watch Julia get staked and not dust.   She herself… Damn.    No, she couldn’t be… something was off.    

The door across from her opened, she could hear it as it did so.   “Sorry kid, but I’d rather not lose my head over a new fledge who just got in over hers”   

She felt it as thick male arms pick her up and she was pulled out of the van.  It had to be the first speaker; it couldn’t be anyone else.   Once she was outside, the smell of gasoline hit her nose.   Stale air and… tacos?   No, something was off there.  The man put her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, and he started walking across what she assumed was a parking lot.  The man’s sneakers crunched on the asphalt, which turned to a different sort of tapping sound once he hit the concrete of the sidewalk.  A creaking sound indicated that a door opened ahead of her and her holder type person or vampire or whatever.   The guy’s hands were cold the way Angel’s had been.   Vampire was definitely likely.   _Kindred are cold and kine are warm, but a wolf can put on sheep’s clothing and with a blush of blood.  Shepherds beware, for we have dismissed your claims._

Wherever she was, it sounded like the room opened outward, and she felt it as her carrier walked up a few steps onto a platform.   It had to be a platform, not another floor because the way the sound echoed here indicated that it was upraised.  Probably a stage of some sort.   God, what time was it?  Why here of all places?   And why did she hear so many voices?

Wait.  Some of those voices weren’t coming from within her head.  Probably anyway.   They sounded further away than they would have if they were from within her head.  She heard several distinct ones talking in several conversations, but she knew she’d have to focus if she was going to hear anything more.  Stale air tickled her nose… and a familiar feminine perfume.  Buffy knew she’d recognize that scent anywhere now.  Julia.  Julia was nearby, and she still… well, she did something.    They wouldn’t just display her corpse on stage, would they? 

The guy carrying Buffy plopped her down onto her knees and removed the bag from her head, holding her tied hands behind her.   She could see now, but she couldn’t move still, and her head lolled slightly.    Beside her, a pale man gripped at the stake that still stuck out of her chest and yanked it right out.   She could wiggle her fingers; she could move!  

But… it didn’t seem like the best idea at the moment.   Standing in front of her was a man in a suit, beside her a shirtless man next to Julia, similarly bound.   Standing next to Julia was a mountain of a man.   He reminded her of some of the demons she’d faced in Sunnydale based on sheer size alone.   The weapon on his back was nothing to sneeze at either, and bound as she was, she couldn’t do much about it at the moment.

“Good evening,” The suited man began.   He held a presence that seemed to radiate authority somewhat.   Buffy knew on sight that this man had to be a vampire.  He reminded her of a blond skeevy version of Dracula.  “My apologies for interrupting any business or prior engagements you may have had, but my reason for calling you here tonight is a troubling one.”

Troubling reason?  From the way the people talked in the van, it had to be something to do with Julia.  Was it because Julia had slept with her?   Or what?   He began to talk about Kindred Society, something about laws that bind it.  Julia caught her eye and smiled at her.    _Trust your sire, childe._    Julia had to have something up her sleeve.   

Buffy’s eye roved over the audience as the man, _Jester pretending to be royalty_ , continued to talk, and she saw a black man whispering to the person he was next to.  She could hear him clear as day.  “This little bitch, what’s he doing?”

The Jester continued his talk about _permission_. Asking permission to sire a childe, did vampires really do this?  Did Julia sire her? “Many of you have come seeking permission, and I have endorsed some of those requests.  However, the accused that sits before you tonight was not refused permission.  Indeed, my permission was never sought at all.  They were caught shortly after the embrace of this childe.”

Buffy glanced over at Julia, a look of confusion clearly etched on her face.  If Julia didn’t have permission to sire her, what did that mean?  Julia’s smile never wavered.   She did mouth out one word though, “mine.” _An Emperor seeking the permission of a Jester_?  Perhaps she felt it was worth it, but whatever the punishment was, it couldn’t be that bad, right?

“It pains me to announce this sentence, as up until tonight, I had considered the accused a loyal and upstanding member of our organization.”  The Jester Prince spoke through both sides of his mouth.  Buffy knew this to be true.  “The sentence for this transgression, unfortunately, is death.”

Death?  For Julia?  And she still smiled.  Why was she smiling?  Why could she be okay with this?  Did she want to die that badly?  If so, why didn’t she just tell… why did she just?

The Prince steepled his hands, and he attempted to placate the rising unrest in the crowd with his next statement, “Know that I am no more adjudicator than I am a servant of the law that governs us all.”

He knelt down next to Julia, whose smile grew wider when he did so.   His voice took on a clearly put upon tone of apologetics.   “Forgive me.”

The Jester stood at that point and walked toward her, but she couldn’t help watching what came next.   After the Jester gave the order, the demonic man pulled his sword off of his back and leveled it over Julia’s neck.   _This is how an Emperor dies, but she will live on._    With a single swing, the mountain severed Julia’s head from her body, and Buffy’s sire turned to fire and ash, and dust.   That… had been a bit more violent a dusting than the vampires she remembered.

God, was she next?   Was she going to have to fight her way out of a room full of vampires with her hands behind her back?   If only she weren’t so damned hungry, she could see how this would work out, but as it stood, she needed more time.   Giles.  She needed a Giles.   The red-eyed mountain required preparation to deal with, preparation she didn’t have time to do.

The man turned toward the audience once more, and he began to speak.   “Which, of course, brings us to the matter of the ill-begotten progeny. Without a sire, most childer are doomed to walk the earth never knowing their place, their responsibilities, and most importantly the laws they must obey.  Therefore, I have decided that-“

“This is bullshit!” The Hispanic man in the audience stood up, fist raised, ready to challenge the Jester. His sail and other companion held him back.  Other voices in the audience joined the man, and they were clearly talking about her.   Buffy wanted to speak up, but anything she could say in her defense here was probably a bad idea. 

On stage, the Jester Prince clearly was unhappy about the situation, but he barely changed his stance as a smile came to his lips.  “If Mister Rodriguez would let me finish, please.   I have decided to let this Kindred live.”

Buffy breathed out a sigh of relief as the bindings on her hands were cut free by the vampire behind her, and she leaned forward.  The Prince continued talking.

“They shall be instructed in the ways of our kind, and be granted the same rights.”   It was hard to believe that the Prince of Jesters was talking about her, but clearly he was.   She was… well, she was different now… and so damn hungry.  Now that the fear was gone, all she could really feel was the hunger in the pit of her stomach.  “Let no one say I am unsympathetic to the plights and causes of this community.”

The Prince thanked the audience for their attendance as she was led off-stage to a back room where she could sit down for a few minutes.    Buffy needed to get her head on straight, and that was difficult when so much was just… off.   Luckily nobody seemed to be coming over to talk to her just yet, and she just needed to focus.   

The smell of cigarette smoke wafted into her nostrils, and she looked left to see Spike sitting down next to her.   “Guess I should welcome you, luv.   Welcome to the land of the beautiful and soulless.  Didn’t think you’d have it in you to become a vampire, Slayer.  Oh wait…”

“Spike, I need to think.”   Buffy shook her head.  “Everything is right and wrong and wet all over.”

“Slayer, if you start talking about the stars, I’m gone.   Dru you aren’t.”  Spike wasn’t really there.  Sunnydale had been a hallucination, but the vampires weren’t.   She was one of them now, wasn’t that just funny?   So funny she wanted to cry…

“I’m hungry and empty and dead inside.  I feel all icky and yet it feels…”  Buffy shrugged.    It felt _right_ , but she still felt like it would be wrong to kill someone unless she had no other choice.   

“Watch it, cutie.  The ponce is on his way over.  He’s probably going to want something for taking out your sire but not you.”  Spike warned. 

“He won’t see you.”  Buffy answered.   “I’ll talk to him… not like he can be worse than Snyder.”

“Famous last words, Slayer.”  Spike said as he stood to walk behind her.  Indeed, the Prince was walking over to her finally.  The rest of the crowd that had come to this… trial, or whatever it was just must have left.

Once he got over to her, he put on an apologetic face.   “About your sire, tragic, my apologies. But you see, there is a strict code of conduct that all of us must… must adhere to… if we wish to survive.”

He began walking, and gestured for Buffy to follow.   Spike chose to step in front of the man, and walk backwards in time with him, so Buffy could see his face as he did so.  “Ponce likes to hear himself speak, doesn’t he Slayer?  Law this, law that…  Break the law, fabric of society unravels, blah blah…”

As they crossed the threshold of the next room, Spike disappeared, and the man continued to talk.   “You understand my predicament, don’t you?   Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your actions and behavior.   So what I’m offering is not generosity, no, but the opportunity to transcend the fate woven by your sire.  This is your trial.  You will be brought to Santa Monica.  There you will meet an agent by the name of Mercurio.  He will provide the details of your labor.”

Buffy frowned.   Roman god of messages and winged feet and helmet?   _The Bird of Hermes is my name, eating my wings to make me tame…_   “Yes… I understand.”

“Good, you understand that what I am giving you is great clemency then, fledgling?”  The Jester moved his arm.   “Prove that it was more than a wasted gesture.  Don’t come back until you do.”

He opened the door, and Spike was there again.   “The poof doesn’t want you to come back until you do his task.  Isn’t that neat?”

Buffy nodded as she stepped out the door into the nearby alleyway.   God, if she could only get rid of the hunger, she could have just stood up to the Jester Prince, but as hungry as she was, standing up to him would probably have had her end up like Julia.   Julia wouldn’t want that.  _Trust in your sire, childe. Swim in the sea._

“So, Slayer, who are you going to kill first?  Or are you going to be like the poof and live on rats and pig’s blood?”  Spike’s game face was clearly visible, and Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if she had one herself.   She didn’t really feel like killing anyone, but she was very hungry.   She was so focused on that that she almost didn’t notice the man stepping out of the shadows, but finely honed instincts combined with her hunger had her falling back into a familiar martial arts stance that she’d learned in Sunnydale.

“What a scene, man!  Hoo-wee! Then they just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods.  How ‘bout that?  Look kiddo, this is probably a lot for you to take in, so uh, why don’t you let me show you the ropes?   Whaddya say?”  The man’s hair was shaggy and down to his shoulders, and he had a full beard that covered his neck as well.   He wore a vest or a shirt with torn sleeves and a pair of brown slacks, overall looking unkempt, or almost feral.   His pallid skin color, along with the fact that Buffy saw him inside, indicated that he was probably something similar to that Jester Prince.

“Would you look at this bloke?”  Spike had walked around behind him, and gave him a once-over.   “A fellow could get to liking someone more his speed.  ‘e’s no stranger to violence, love.   A real Fighting Jack.”

“Shut up, Spike…”  Buffy tried to murmur, knowing that her hallucination would hear her regardless.  She turned her attention back to the man in front of her.   “So you’re here to make with the explainy unlike what Mr. I’m a Princely…”

“Poof.  Prince Pooferton of Poofing Poofliness, and his merry axeman.” Buffy glanced at Spike, whose game face melted away into a picture of innocence.  

“Well… what the Jester said.   Stop it, Spike.   Who are you?”  Buffy tried to stay focused on Jack.

“Oh shit, and you’re Malkavian too.   You’re doubly fucked.”  The man’s grin seemed to get wider, as if he was trying to be reassuring.   It helped.  A little.   “Always thought Julia was a Toreador... shame about what was done to her, sorry.   The name’s Jack, and I’m offering to help.”

“Help how….  Tornadio and Mal” _Malkavian.  This must not be said wrong._ “Malkavian…   Oh, and I’m Buffy, Buffy Summers…”  Buffy figured she should at least give him her name.   This wasn’t Sunnydale.  It wasn’t like he was going to-

 

“Oh… wait.  The Hemery High Hunter?   Shit.  I don’t even know how to express the depths of how fucked you are.   Look, kiddo, I only have so much time.  When and if you get back from Santa Monica in one piece, we’ll swap some life stories, and I’ll make sure to tell you some about Julia.   Would you like some help?”   Jack seemed reassuring.   Perhaps the other… Kindred?  Could indeed be helpful.  Things were strange, and she didn’t seem to feel all that different.   But if she was missing her soul, how would she know?  Would she even care?  Hemery High Hunter sounded menacing though.  It wasn’t as catchy as Vampire Slayer, and it didn’t seem to have the same connotations.  However, it meant that she _did_ deal with vampires at Hemery.  That… was actually oddly reassuring.

“Yeah… Yes.  Please, Jack.   Make with the ‘splainy.   Neither of us have much time.”  Buffy nodded to him.   

“Alright.   So, I figured that _somebody_ should fill you in on the bare bones stuff at least.   Given that our so-called _prince_ couldn’t be bothered, I might as well tell you what you need to know to stay alive.  Plus…”  Jack shook his head and took a closer look at Buffy.   “You alright?  You look a little bit wobbly.  You even had a drink yet?”

A drink.   There was the elephant in the room.   Alleyway.  Whatever.   This was what would force her to confront it.  “Told you, Slayer.   You’re going to have to kill, to drink.”   Spike smiled at her.   “Blood is life.  Enjoy it.”

God.   She was a _vampire_.  She’d dug herself out of her grave.  She’d become one of the undead.   She’d even been sta- wait a minute.   Something was definitely off there.   She’d been staked and _lived through it_.  What the heck was up with that?   “N-no, I haven’t had anything to drink since I woke up…”

“Oh, man… We’re poppin’ a cherry here!” God, did he have to phrase it like that?  Not to mention that, due to being in an asylum, it was probably likely that her sire was the only sex she’d had when she was alive.   “Ah, you’re going to love this!  Alright, check it out, Buffy.   You’re going to have to drink some blood.  It’s your new rack’a lamb, your new champagne – blood’s your new fuckin’ heroin, kid.   Get ready though, cuz, heh, it’s never as sweet as the first time.”

If Buffy hadn’t been so hungry, she’d probably have disagreed with him somewhere in there.   Right now, all she could think about was sating that hunger.   Blood definitely sounded appetizing.   She didn’t like that she had to do it, but oh, it definitely was something she needed to do.   “Okay…  What…  What should I do?”

“Well down around the corner there, saw this human.  Poor S.O.B., he can’t even find his car…”  Jack chuckled.  “Go on down there, all casual like, creep up on him.  Bare those cute little fangs of yours and feed.  Don’t worry about how to do it, it’ll just come naturally, as if you’d done it a thousand times already.”  

Buffy wasn’t concerned about the man also becoming a vampire.  She was fairly confident that the whole suckfest thing had to go on here too, otherwise the world would be overrun.   “So, just go down there and…”  Buffy opened her mouth, and… whoa… she could feel those fangs come out.   Her hand immediately went to her forehead and she prodded and poked.

“Well, that’s just not fair, Slayer.    You get to stay pretty when you feed.”  Spike commented, and she resisted the urge to backtalk him once more.

“Err… what are you doing, kid?”  Jack probably couldn’t help asking.   It was odd, after all.

“My face didn’t change.   Shouldn’t it have changed?” Buffy figured she might as well ask the senior vampire there.  Spike didn’t count since only she could see him.  He probably also wasn’t really Spike.   Seventy percent chance.

“Your face don’t change, kid.   None of that comic book crap.  Go on, Buffy.  Go for it.   Be sure though, and this is really important so listen up, be sure not to drain ‘em dry, okay?   Might be hard to resist, but don’t kill him.”   Jack’s last statement confused her.   She was a… Well, perhaps if she didn’t kill him, it wouldn’t be such a big deal.  Blood donation, that sort of thing.  Yeah.

Buffy made her way down the alley and spotted the man.   He looked to be a simple businessman, who yeah, probably was lost.   He didn’t notice her at all, and she wasn’t even trying to be all that stealthy; she just walked down the alley like it was a graveyard in Sunnydale.  When she got close, all she could hear was that heartbeat, and she could smell the coursing vitae through his skin.    She needed to taste it, to drink in the man.   When she stepped closer, she grabbed on, ignoring the gasp of terror from him and bit down.

The first droplets that hit her tongue were nearly orgasmic.   She swallowed and sucked, letting the man’s still-beating heart do some of the work for her as she got drop after drop of that life-giving substance.   The blood flowed over her tongue, but after both twenty seconds and forever, she reluctantly stopped.   She wouldn’t kill the man, wouldn’t drain him dry.    Pulling her fangs out of the man’s neck, she gave it a lick, and the wounds sealed themselves over, as if they hadn’t been there in the first place.

Closing her eyes, Buffy felt giddy.   She wasn’t hungry anymore, she was powerful, strong… She could take on the world and win… and she knew where this guy’s car was.   The guy left it across the street in the other alleyway.   How stupid he must have felt for getting so lost.   She’d have to do him a favor for donating his blood to her.   She walked the man’s dazed body to the edge of the alleyway, pointing him in the direction of his car.    There.   He did something nice for her, so she did something nice for him.   

Hopefully he’d get out of his daze soon enough to go out on his date with his boyfriend.  Being cooked for would be divine

“Well, Slayer, guess you didn’t have to kill for your meal after all.”  Spike commented.   “Have to say, watching you drink was beautiful, love.  You definitely looked like you enjoyed it.”

“You know, Spike… I think I did…”  And if she hadn’t been on such a high from the blood, it might have scared her as she headed back toward Jack.   His grin was evident as he watched her swagger a bit.

“Ooh, liked that did you, kid?   You’re definitely feeling it.   You’re a born-again predator.  That blood bubbling inside you, lifting you up?  That’s what being one of us is all about.”

Buffy just smiled at the man.  _The Smiling Jack sails the seventh sea and teaches of Kindred blood and pirate creeds.  Blood is life, blood is power._ And Spike was gone.   For now, she guessed.

“So now you’ve got the blood, and other things.   Being the Hemery High Hunter, you probably already know about how Kindred, all Kindred… our word for vampire, by the way, all Kindred have quite a few things in common that put us above humans on the food chain.”

Buffy nodded.  “Sharper senses, near-immortality, durable body, and stronger than the average human?”

“Well, the strength thing’s not a guarantee.  You’re a Malkavian, so things are probably a bit different for you.  Now, I’m sure you know that we can still get destroyed, but most of those movie tricks don’t work.   Crosses and garlic do practically nothing.  You saw what a stake does first-hand if it’s in the heart.” 

Buffy winced, nodding.   Stakes didn’t dust vampires here.   She was a vampire, and she didn’t want to go through the staking process again.  “So what does kill us?   We’re not all like Superman, right?  I was always more a Spider-Man fan. “

“Shotgun blast to the head? That’ll kill you.  Fire?  That’s some real trouble.  Sunlight?  Well, if you catch a sunrise, you’re pretty much screwed.   Got it?”

“So no gunfire, fire, or sunny goodness.   I’m never going to be able to get a tan….”  Buffy whined out that last part.   She liked having a tan, and pale skin was just terrible… 

“So, hmm, what next?”  Jack stroked his beard to think, and then the sound of incoming machine gun fire came from over the nearby fence.  “The fuck is this?”

Buffy glanced toward the sounds.  She really didn’t tend to like the sound of gunfire when it was close when she had been _alive_.  She liked it even less now that she was undead and found out that yes, she could still get killed by it.   “Where the heck are we anyway?”

“Don’t matter much now.   Look, I’m going to go check this out, you get into the warehouse and out of the way.   I’ll come find you.”  Jack gave a grin to her.

“Wait… I’m not…”  Buffy couldn’t even finish her statement before the older Kindred leapt the fence.   Warehouse.  Lovely.  She wasn’t a damsel in distress.   She might have been a newly made fledgling, but she had been the Slayer, damn it.   At least, she had been the Slayer in Sunnydale, but enough of her delusions and hallucinations had apparently been true…  Gah, she should probably just open the door.

The interior of the warehouse was… well, more or less like any other warehouse Buffy had seen.  Boxes piled high, a crane, and oh look, it was _just_ like the other warehouses Buffy had seen in Sunnydale.  Well, mostly.  Her vampires didn’t tend to carry assault rifles as they searched an area.   She didn’t recognize them from her trial, but she was a vampire like them now, right?   They wouldn’t shoot at her… _The Sabbat think they know what there is to do, but while they have the right answers, they handle things wrong._

Perhaps, she’d get their attention while having a convenient crate to duck behind if things went badly.  She had no weapons currently, but that was perfectly fine.  Buffy easily remembered what she’d done before.   Two thug-like vampires with assault rifles, moving like they barely knew how to shoot them stalked the alley floor.  Accompanying them were some more grotesque looking things, walking like apes with hideously long claws.    Buffy didn’t want to potentially have to fight an ally, but that didn’t mean these were allies.

“Hi, I’m Buffy, and I’m a little lost…”  Buffy decided now was the best time to get their attention.  “Could you tell me where I’m supposed to get some of those too?”

One of the gun nuts leered at her.   Actually leered, but the second one aimed at her and yelled out, “Camarilla whore!”

Buffy barely had time to dive to the side before he began firing.  That answered that question.  She was sorry she doubted her inner voice.  She didn’t really understand the politics, but the four in there were enemies, as such, they were to be slain. Slayed.  Whatever.   She’d been light on her feet since drinking Justin’s blood, and she’d been needing a bit of an outlet.   Rolling to the side, she knew she needed to take out the gunners first.   They seemed to be firing a bit haphazardly, _definitely_ _untrained_.    Buffy kept an eye out for the clawed ones as she moved; it’d suck to have them box her in.   

When she heard the tell-tale click of an empty clip, Buffy leapt over the boxes at one of the gunmen.  She trapped his arm as it went for the new clip, slammed her forehead against his chin and kneed him in the groin, stripping the gun out of his arms and tossing it to the ground.    Stepping back, she hopped in place a couple times, getting into a good stance before snapping out with a kick at the vamp’s face.   He reacted slowly, and she followed up, stepping inside to batter him a few times with her fists, perfectly executing punches and weaving out of his clumsily returned ones.  

When she heard his partner finish reloading, she grabbed his arm and spun him around to use as a vampire shield against the bullets.  Instinctively she lifted a leg out of the way of incoming claws as her shield dissolved into dust after the last bullet struck home.   “Really?   High and low?”   

Buffy’s foot snapped out at the clawed vampire, striking it in the head… much harder than she’d intended.   The head kept going, but the body didn’t, and both head and body collapsed into dust.   

Two left.   The remaining gunman was reloading his weapon, and Buffy shook her head, and kicked a piece of wood into her hand.   “You know, a stake through the heart doesn’t actually kill us.”

The gunman aimed, and Buffy threw at a speed that would have had a Major League pitcher jealous, embedding the stake in the gunman’s heart.   The remaining clawed vampire started to run away at this point, and Buffy cartwheeled over to it, driving her heeled boot into its spine with a satisfying crunch.  Then it burned up in fire and ash.

“That’ll put marzipan in your pie plate, bingo!”  Buffy paused for a second.   “Actually, not even sure why I said that.”  Buffy walked over to the staked vampire and crouched down next to him.  

“You called me a whore.   Camarilla whore, you said… and tried to shoot me.”   Buffy checked his pockets for any money or identification and found neither.   “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to have to ask Jackie.”

“Oh put him out of his misery already, Slayer.”   Spike’s phantom appeared opposite her downed opponent.   “He obviously tried to kill you, love.  Ask Jackie Boy what’s going on after you get rid of the blighter.”

Buffy nodded and then grinned as she found a knife on the vampire.   “Finders Keepers…”  Driving the knife down to sever the spinal column of the paralyzed vampire, she continued.  “Loser’s dust.”

She stood up.   Now, she needed to go find that Smiling Jack.

* * *

The stairs to the second floor were blocked off, but Buffy’s acrobatic experience stuck with her through her death and she vaulted up the crates to the railing above.   Jack said that he’d meet her inside, and given the Sad Bats on the first floor, she’d need to be prepared when heading up to meet him.   The knife she’d picked up off of the one would come in handy if she ran into more hostile vampires.   Rare was it that she’d have non-hostile encounters with vampires, and tonight she’d had both.  Hell, she was now one herself, so there was that.

_They think they know the way, but they get lost on the road of life._   Did the voice sound a bit different this time?  Maybe there was more than one in there.  Hah.   As if the night wasn’t crazy enough already, but she’d felt more herself since leaving that kangaroo court than she had since waking up in the asylum.  

“Hoo-ee, girl.   I caught the tail end of your little scrape there…”  Jack was leaning against a wall near a window.   The moonlight glinted off his face, as he looked outside for a second.  His voice came out barely above a whisper.  “You definitely haven’t lost many skills since high school.”

“Jack, those Sad Bats tried to kill me, what’s the what?” Let it not be said that Buffy couldn’t take a hint.  She kept her voice in the lower decibels as well.

“Heh. Sad Bats, I’m going to have to remember that one.   Their proper name is Sabbat.  They’re trying to raid the place.   They’re uh… Christ, I was hoping to spare this shit until later.  Mostly they’re mindless bloodthirsty assholes.”  Jack glanced out the window again.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. “They’re here, why? Splain-y, please…”

“They got wind of this here gathering, so they figure they’d raise a little hell to put some heat on the ‘Prince.’  Before you ask, we ain’t got time to go into all the political particulars.   You’ve proven you can handle yourself against them, better than any fledge I’ve seen before.”

“They’re dumb vampires, how hard can they be?”  Buffy shrugged.

“Normally I’d agree with you, but these goons seem to be a bit smarter than the average shovelhead they use.  Heads up, take a look out there, easy though.”

Buffy listened and edged her way toward the window and looked out at the alley below.  Standing at one end of the alley was the man who executed Julia, swordless.   The hulking behemoth stood opposite two Sad Bats with Uzis behind a thing that reminded her of the Gentlemen’s minions. 

“DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE! DIE!”   One of the men let out a crazed laugh as he ran forward, firing his gun. The clawed vampire galloped forward at the giant of a man who calmly raised his right hand.  Blue energy gathered around the outstretched hand and behind the approaching Sad Bats two spiritual wolves gathered from the aether.   

_Observe the Sheriff, my childe.  Note his strengths…_   That definitely was a different voice, and it was more familiar, more direct.   

The spectral wolves pounced the gun-toting vampires, tearing out their throats in an instant.   Wait, the vampires weren’t turning to dust.   They were just… bleeding, being eaten by the spectral wolves.    They’d been men, not vampires.  The clawed one on the other hand, ignored the plight of its companions, and it continued forward.   The executioner held out his hand and blew as if one would a kiss.     The charging vampire dusted instantly, turning into fire and ash.  

Lowering his fist, the giant turned to look up at the window, spotting Buffy within it.   Buffy tensed her muscles.  There was no way she was ready to fight _that_.   Avenging Julia wasn’t in the cards right now, and perhaps it wouldn’t be ever.    She wasn’t going to be able to deal with someone who could dust her without even laying a finger on her at the moment.    When the giant lowered his head and started out the alley, Buffy breathed out a sigh of relief.   

Jack chose to speak up then.  “Idiots.   Frenzied bastards.   Right, we better get out the back.  That should have been the last of them, and I’m pretty sure your ride’s not much further.”

Buffy would have spoken up, and hell, she could practically hear voices urging her to.  However, she was still a little shaken at the casual ease that giant had displayed down there as she made it toward the office door.   Trying it once, she shook her head.  Locked.  Of course it was.   Luckily she knew of the best way to deal with that sort of thing.  Lockpicking, Slayer Style.   With a hard shove, she managed to pop the door off its hinges and slide it away from the door frame.   The exit had to be through this office.

Jack, of course, had somehow managed to get inside without her seeing.   

“… How?  You were out there less than a minute ago…”  Buffy needed a bit of an explanation.

“Shortcut… well-hidden.  Very expensive.”  Jack commented.  “You didn’t seem to have any trouble.”

“Carnegie hall method.”  Buffy commented, briefly wondering if that bit of old adage would be too young for the vampire ahead of her.

“Ah, yeah.   Cool.   So, bit more of a lesson here.   See those Sabbat assholes?  Don’t act like them.   You might be a big bad vampire now, which yeah, is kind of awesome.   Keep it quiet.   You act like the big bad vampire, you saw what happened.   Hell, you did some of it yourself.”

Buffy nodded.   “Wasn’t planning on becoming a Big Bad, anyway.  Not even a Medium Bad.   Just wanted to figure out what I was trying to do and what Julia wanted with me… “

“Yeah, do that on the down low.   Same reason you don’t let humans see you feeding.  It’s why the wolf doesn’t want the sheep to know he’s there.  It’s also why you don’t go jugglin’ dumpsters or outrun the 8:15 from Sacramento.   And it’s why you didn’t know any of this before what happened at your High School.  It’s why you didn’t see anything between then and now either.”  Jack paused.  “Usually with new fledges, they learn this shit from their sires.   They don’t really know much before they get turned.   Keep our secret, secret, and you make things easier on all of us.   There’s lots of cameras around… fuckups ain’t tolerated.   Should make sense enough.   It’s not so casual to a fledgling like you though.”

Jack’s statement there sounded focused.   Buffy needed to clarify.   “What exactly do you mean, like me?   I mean, yeah, I’m all lacking in the sire-y department, but I’m not all that different… am I?”

“That party back there, with the assholes that killed Julia?  That’s the Camarilla.  Hmph.  They make a tidy business out of enforcing ‘vampire laws’ like this one.   They didn’t save you out of any sort of generosity, really.”   

“So, wait, you don’t like the Camarilla?   Not that I like the Jester Prince of Pooferton anyway…”   Buffy shook her head.

“Hah!  Slayer, you took what I said to heart!” Spike’s voice was right by her ear, but she couldn’t see him.   Why, exactly, did he always appear as an auditory hallucination rather than just a voice in her head?  “Because I’m me, pet.  Now, the combination for the safe is easy…”

“I’ll tell you what I think some other time, maybe.   I like to let people form their own opinions.”  Once again, Jack couldn’t hear Spike so he had continued.  “Now, we need to get through that door, and it’s magnetically sealed.  There should be some sort of keycard somewhere.  That brings me to my next point.  You do what you gotta do to survive.  Theft, destruction of property, breaking and entering?   You’ll probably do all that and more before the night’s out.  Now, take a look for that keycard.”

Buffy immediately went over to the safe, and looked at it.  Electronic lock, linked by wire to the computer next to it, and the computer was running…. Windows 3.1?   Utilizing what she knew from working with Willow, she looked around for the password.

“Password’s ‘notepad’, love.   Put it in, and you should be able to unlock that safe.   Otherwise, you’ll need to use that knife of yours to cut the green wire.”  Spike was sitting in a swivel chair with his feet up on the desk it was next to. He had no cigarette in his mouth, but she could still smell the tobacco on his breath from where she stood.   

She input Spike’s password, and she idly wondered why anyone would use such a word to protect their computer.   Once logged in, she easily accessed the electronic lock on the safe which then popped open.   Inside were a few stacks of cash and a keycard.  

“Take what you need, kid.”  Jack said from behind her.  “Car’s probably waiting for you outside.”

Buffy nodded and stuffed her pockets with the cash before brandishing the keycard.   “Okay, got the card, let’s get out of here, Jackie…”

“Just Jack, kiddo.” _Smiling Jack’s ocean of blood lies far away_.

“Jack then…” Outside the door, a horn beeped twice, signaling a waiting car.  _The chariot awaits to bring us to the home of the fleet-footed god._

“Looks like we’ll have to continue our chat another time, Buffy.  I’ll go make sure it’s clear, but you should get to your car.”

Buffy nodded and used the key on the door, disabling its magnetic locks.   Jack went through first, but Buffy continued down after him, descending the stairs to find a taxi waiting for her.  The man driving the cab was, like most everyone she’d met that night, a vampire, but one with fair skin and chose to wear modern clothing.  His eyes were covered with sunglasses, likely to hide their inhuman nature.

That said.  There was something off about him. Something that was supremely wrong and frightened her to the bone.   She knew she needed to be on this cab, but with every step, she could hear the thrum of voices in her head get louder.  _The Dark Father takes us on a journey to follow his dark footsteps!_

“H-hello…”   Where.   No.   No… she would just… get in the cab.  With the driver who wasn’t going to talk much as he drove off to wherever she was going to be taken.  Santa Monica!  Santa Monica was where she was going to be taken.   Nowhere near home.   Good.  The burning question within her for the cab driver could wait until she needed his services again.   She wasn’t going to ask it now.

Instead, she just rode in silence as she forced those feelings out and contemplated her new un-life.  Santa Monica would come soon enough, and it certainly was a beautiful night...

* * *

Buffy stared out the window of the taxi as the cab driver made his way down the highway from downtown toward Santa Monica.  To think that she’d been there barely the previous evening, it felt like a lifetime ago.  Hell, it, in many ways, _was_ a lifetime ago.    

“Think like that too much, Slayer, and you’ll out-brood the poof.  You’re a vampire now; you might as well enjoy it.”  Spike’s voice echoed through the cab, but like always, only she seemed to hear him.  

Buffy ignored her hallucination, preferring to at least attempt to focus on what was real as the cabbie pulled off the Interstate and onto a side one.   She hadn’t been to this area of Santa Monica when she’d been alive, as she’d been too upper class to even bother.   This area of the city was heavily run down, dirty, and she swore she could smell the grime and piss through the glass of the rolled-up window.  The benefits of a vampiric sensory suite, everyone.   _Dirty kine taste worse than clean ones.  Meat must be prepared before consumption._

Less creepy than before, but it was telling when the voices themselves became the new normal.  She wasn’t entirely certain that she wanted to deal with them, but every indication she had now said that she was stuck with them. Just like she was going to be stuck with whatever scraps the jester prince had decided to give her in order to aid her on what he deemed was her mission.  Jerk.   

“Your haven’s inside,” the cab driver said, driving Buffy from her reverie and sending any number of voices skittering and chittering in her head.   The cab had stopped in front of a small apartment block above a pawn shop.  _He talks.  The Dark Father speaks and all must listen_.  “Lacroix provided.”

Buffy nodded and opened the door to the cab.  Once she stepped outside and shut the door behind her, the driver drove off, without even asking for payment or a tip.   Looking at the exterior of the building, she idly debated whether or not she should go inside, but ultimately decided to do so.   She needed to see what she had to work with. 

It really wasn’t much, the single room flat that Lacroix had set her up with.   There was a barren bed, a desk in the corner with a laptop, a TV with rabbit-ear antennae on top.  A minifridge sat plugged in in the corner, and she idly opened it, wondering just what the jester prince would stuff inside.   Buffy curled up her lip as she saw the blood packs hanging in the fridge.   _Space food and meatballs, hold the meat._

She nabbed one.  Not even a microwave and a mug so she could pretend that she was making herself some hot cocoa.   As she pierced the pack with her fangs, she grimaced.  Cold blood wasn’t quite right, not quite as filling as blood fresh from the tap.   

“Getting picky, are you, Slayer?”  Spike asked.  “Had one little taste of the real thing and can’t wait to do it again?”

“No!” Buffy forcefully said.   “I’m just… I’m adjusting.   Microwave would help.   A mug would help.”

“Going to pretend to be the poof?   Going to start drinking pig’s blood too?”  Spike asked, and a wave of disgust came over Buffy at the idea of pig’s blood.   The only worse thing would be rats.    Still, just because she had to feed off people didn’t mean she had to kill them.  _Bleed them and let them come back for more._

“I’ve got a plan,” Buffy said, mostly to herself as she made her way across the room.  She needed someone, a contact.  Lacroix had mentioned a man who shared his name with the Roman version of the Greek god with winged sandals.  Somehow she couldn’t get the idea of a blue man in a toga with Elton John sunglasses out of her head when thinking of him, the Fleet-Footed God.   As she made it to the desk, she almost found herself humming.   Which would be of the bad.   No singing, humming or making any sort of musical noise.  _Zero to Hero, Buff is a hero!_

Buffy pushed the voices out and focused on the desk.  A few notes lay there near the laptop. She went over the one on the notepad first.  It seemed to be from Mercurio, telling her what the password to the laptop was (surprise), along with letting her know that he’d sent her an e-mail with his address.   Great.  Apparently Kindred had moved on to the twenty-f—oh, it was still the nineties, wasn’t it?  Twentieth century then.   She wondered what her e-mail address was, but she supposed she’d find out when she got onto the laptop.  It had to be better than the one Willow had helped her set up in High School.  Except…   Had that been real?  _It’s all so fuzzy and mixed up.  Why pick one?  Nothing is true. Everything is real._

Another note caught her eye, from a Maxamillian Strauss, the Tremere Regent.   She supposed that Tremere was like how she was a Malkavian, which meant that he was another kind of vampire.  So many different kinds, how was she supposed to keep track? _The Dark Father begat three childer, who in turn begat more, and more and thirteen is the unlucky number to live through it all.  Thirteen clans.  My childe, I wish for you to know more._

Buffy shook her head.  Maybe Julia was still around somehow, but Lacroix’d had her killed.  Of course, there was always the alternative explanation, something that held true from life into death: she was crazy.   Maybe it was time to accept that, and deal with it.   The Tremere Regent wanted to meet, but judging from the time, she would need to hide herself away for the day.    She could feel herself getting tired, and she decided she’d check her e-mail first thing when she woke up.   Buffy made her way to the bed, pulling to make sure she’d be out of the way of any direct sunlight, and she laid underneath the mattress, making sure that the little bit of covers could keep her from any indirect sunlight as well.    Something told her that’d be bad.

The night left her and she closed her eyes, feeling herself lose consciousness as the sunlight filtered in over her room, not quite reaching where she laid.

 

She opened her eyes a few seconds later, feeling the sun beating down upon her skin.  The wind kicked sand from the dunes up into flurries, and Buffy saw the flare of movement among them.    Swift movement, a predator’s movement.  It was a woman among the dunes, stalking her as she approached Buffy’s location.   Buffy knew this woman; she’d spoken to her before… in the Sunnydale hallucination, assuming it was a hallucination.   The Slayer.  First of the Slayers.  Sineya.   Her hair hung in thick natural dreadlocks, and her dark skin was painted with white that Buffy assumed came from bone dust of some sort.  The woman wore a tunic that had been torn into rags.

Buffy tensed her muscles, and when Sineya came flying at her, she was ready.   She blocked a punch headed for her jaw, slammed her own foot into the Slayer’s solar plexus and pushed the other woman back several feet.   Not letting up the attack, Buffy pounced on Sineya, using a combination she’d learned from Giles on the primitive Slayer, two punches to her face, and an elbow to the chin.  

Sineya took those punches like a champ and threw Buffy from her, into a sand dune.   She kicked Buffy once, and spoke, her voice echoing.  “ _Vampire_.”

“Not… by choice…” Buffy got to her feet, the sun above no longer oppressively bright, instead dimming into twilight.  “You want to tell me something?  Or do you just want to kill me?”

“ _Still Slayer.  But Vampire._ ”  Sineya spat on the ground.   “ _Alone._ ”

Buffy laughed.  “I told you before.  I am _not_ alone.   Maybe less so than even before.”

A host of shadowed people appeared behind Buffy, each of them clasping a hand to the nearby shoulder.   Only the glint of light off their fangs indicated their nature, as a shadowed woman placed her hand upon Buffy’s shoulder behind her.   The sun’s rays seemed to disappear from the desert, pitching it into the night, and Buffy’s skin paled.

“We are _never_ alone now, and we will never be.”  Buffy held out a hand to Sineya.  “You don’t have to be either.   Trees have grown in the desert since you were around.  Water flows, and I refuse to sleep on a bed of bones.”

“We… are… alone…” Sineya said in English, no longer in the primitive language she’d used before.  And in an instant, she crossed the ground separating her from Buffy, driving a wooden stake into Buffy’s chest, missing the heart by a fraction of an inch. 

Buffy laughed a madwoman’s laugh, and she brought her hands toward Sineya.  “You don’t have to be, not anymore.”  She pulled the woman closer, pulling her into a hug.   “Join us, please…”

“ _You think you know, what you are now… what you’ve become…”_ A smile played on the First Slayer’s lips as she spoke once more.   “ _You haven’t even begun_.”

Sineya pulled the stake out and drove it toward her own chest.

 

Buffy sat up under the bed with a start.   The dream… She hadn’t expected to dream at all during the day.  The dream had reminded her of a Slayer dream, but not entirely.  She was more confident in the dream, less… unsure about what she was.  It just made too much sense in there, but she couldn’t… Something wasn’t right about it.   Malkavian or not, she’d barely begun as a vampire.  This was only night two, and she really didn’t know anything.   Maybe she’d figure some out on her own; she’d have to without Julia, but the idea of being a _Vampire_ Slayer was funny enough to her. 

Train of thought lost, she glanced out the window, and she could tell it was barely after sunset.   She rolled out from under the bed and climbed to her feet.  She figured it was time to look at those e-mails so that she could figure out just what it was the Jester Prince wanted her to do for him.   Opening the drawer of the desk, she pulled out the limited amount of cash that Mercurio had left for her, and she logged onto the computer.

Buffy grimaced as she saw the state of the laptop.  The interface was perilously simple, and it was more like something out of the eighties than the nineties.  Buffy vaguely recalled using a text-based interface in Miss Calendar’s class for all of a week before Snyder gave her the funding to get a license for an operating system.   Willow’d loved it, but she hadn’t.   _The Red Tree spreads its roots in the web of others._

Apparently the voices knew about Willow.   Good to know.  Maybe she’d told them, but that had been strange.   Stranger still was the bottom e-mail subjected: “The game opens.”  It contained but a simple message: “A pawn is moved, the game begins.”   Whatever that meant, Buffy didn’t know, but the e-mail from Mercurio was on the list with his housing address in the message.   Lacroix sent her a message basically acting like the would-be Council prat that he pretended to be.   Travers would have had the Jester shaking in his would-be princely boots.  _The Jester plays the game of power, pretending to be an Ace, but he’s less than a Jack._

Another e-mail caught her eye, one that just came in from an unknown sender.  The subject simply said: “Don’t forget the business card.”  When she went to open it, the e-mail was nowhere to be found, but the radio flipped on at that moment, and it started playing “Old Macdonald had a farm” before a woman’s voice came from it, mentioning something about it being early for her to start, but she was going to be with everyone all night long.   

Buffy closed out of the laptop and shook her head.   After grabbing one of the two remaining blood packs, draining it, and switching off the radio, she made her way outside.   Mercurio’s house couldn’t be far from where she was staying, otherwise she doubted Lacroix would have put her there.  His man had to be close enough that she could make it to him without the aid of any sort of transport like the cab driver.  Or any cab driver that happened to be human.

Buffy locked the door to her apartment behind her, and she made her way out onto the street, passing a homeless person along the way.   She wasn’t hungry enough to feed off him, so she passed him a five and kept going.   She needed to make it to Main Street, which is where Mercurio’s address said he lived off of.   It really felt strange to her that two days previous she’d been walking these streets in the sun, with _Sammy,_ and now she’d never walk them like that again.  _Spite the sun, keep it away.  The kine age much too quickly under its rays. I control the cheese.  It does not control me._

God, Sammy… Her friend had to be so worried about her.  Unless she never made it home last night, the same as Buffy.  Except… Lindsey had seemed to be a reliable man.   That Janus daughter bitch had better not have killed her, and if she went into the Asylum tonight, she’d demand answers.   God, what would her parents say?  How worried must they have been that she hadn’t come out?   Did she look different enough that if people were actively looking for her, they wouldn’t find her?   Captain Jack had mentioned something about a Masquerade.  Would meeting with her parents break it?  Would they try to lock her in the hospital again?   She didn’t want to get on the Jester’s bad side unless she was going to slay him.   She needed to be careful.   Maybe an ally would be able to help her with her parents and Sammy.  Maybe Lindsey, as he seemed to know Julia.  _Must tend to the Kine and water them.  They grow up to be such wondrous food._

As she turned the corner onto Main, she noted a man sprawled out on the stairs leading up to what appeared to be a large house.  Blood visibly pooled around his prone form, smelling too much like a waste, but the man wasn’t dead.  Buffy didn’t get a good look at his outfit before he made a coughing sound and reached up to open the door and pushed his way inside.  The door shut behind him, and Buffy frowned.   The man looked like he needed help.  _The God of Messengers is a message himself._

… Well, that settled it.  She needed to go into the house anyway, and, after double-checking the house number (she couldn’t very well guarantee the voices were right), she stepped inside Mercurio’s lush manor.  How he managed to afford a house this nice a few blocks from the pier and beach was beyond her.   The walls had a lovely rectangular pattern and the tile on the ground would probably have been lovely too if not for the blood trail that led through the halls.

Buffy didn’t even need to follow her nose; the blood trail was too consistent.  She followed the trail down the hall and through a door into a lovely living room that was only marred by the body lying face down on the couch.   Oh, wait… the body was still breathing.

“Hello?” Buffy asked, a little nervously.  She needed to see if the guy was okay.   Maybe there was a way she could help him.

The man lifted his head up off the couch to look at her.  “Those mothers… they ripped me off…. I’m dyin’ here!”  

The man wore a green sport jacket over a purple frilled shirt… oh, wait, that was actually a _white_ shirt normally, but today it had gotten coated in blood.  Did make a pretty tye-dye pattern though.  He looked like he’d been put through the meat grinder, but if he were healthier, he might not have looked all that bad.   He didn’t really have much on Julia, Sammy or Lindsey, but he probably would be more attractive if he didn’t look like he lost a fight with a lawnmower.

“Are you the fleet-footed god?”  She’d meant to ask if he was Mercurio, but her voice slipped.  It was easier to call him that than to use his real name for some reason.  _The bird of Hermes is my name, eating my wings to keep me tame._   Oh, now it was repeating itself.

“The fleet-foote—oh, like the Roman thing.  Oh, I get it.  Ah, shit.  Did they have to send one of you?” If the man hadn’t been hurt enough already, Buffy would consider doing something to him because of that.  “Yeah, I’m Mercurio.  Are you here for the Astrolite?   I’m uh… Fucking hell, I can feel a draft on my insides!    They shanked me! Bastards.  The blood ain’t workin’ no more, my head, it feels cracked… think my eye’s popped.”

Buffy grimaced.   “All right fleet-footed thingy, what’s the what?”  She wanted to offer him a hospital, but she could just see the man saying something about needing to avoid them.   Something within her told her that offering to call an ambulance or something wouldn’t be a good idea, and she didn’t want to deal with doctors in a hospital anyway.   He probably needed the hospital, but given his wounds, it wasn’t likely that a doctor would be able to help him more than he was already helping himself.   Mercurio obviously wasn’t normal.  A normal person would be dead.

“What? Oh, shit, is that my rib? Is my fucking rib poking out my side?   I’m all numb.  Look for me, will you?”  

Buffy rolled her eyes, glancing down. “You’re fine, God of Messengers.  What happened?”  _High maintenance ghouls.  Always whining._

“Goddamn chemist!  Apparently I can’t trust any operators in LA.   I verified him, his organization sounded reliable.   Guy mixes up speed normally, sells it, and occasionally he does explosives.  I set up a drop for astrolite.”

“Which makes things all explode-y, right?”  Buffy asked.  “What do you need that for?”

“Doesn’t matter if we don’t get it back.  I went down for the deal today, with the money, right?   Bunch of junkie pricks came out and hit me with a bat.   These cocksuckers, they beat me rotten and left me for a stiff.   I had to crawl to my car, crawl my ass up here— only thing that’s holding me together is the vamp blood.  Shit, though.  They’ve got the money; they’ve got the Astrolite.”

Buffy frowned.   Vamp blood.   It always came down to it, didn’t it?  “Blood?”

“Right, you’re new, aren’t you?  Once a month I get fed vampire blood.  Heals me, makes me stronger, faster, better than a normal human.  I don’t age.  You might not think it by looking at me, but I’m pushing sixty.”  Mercurio gestured to himself with a wince.

“Okay.  So bad guys have the money, have the explode-y things.  Give the message, Fleet-footed God, where are they?”

“The bastards live out in a dump on the beach.  There’s about four or five of them.   The one that’s got the explosives is Dennis.  He’s got my money too, the prick!  You’ve got to get it back from ‘em.   Maybe you can reason with ‘em.  Maybe you should break in…  I want to kill ‘em.  You should do whatever you people do.  It was my screw-up, I know.” 

Buffy grimaced.  She wasn’t entirely sure she could kill these guys, but she’d at least make them unlikely to hurt anyone ever again.  Beating them within an inch of their life seemed plausible.  _Killing in revenge or self-defense is right. It’s human._

“Need anything, Fleet-footed god?”  Buffy asked before turning to head out.

“If you could… something for the pain.  And uh… please don’t tell anyone about the deal.  About what went down. If people find out, I’m dead.   If anyone found out, I’m dead. Do this for me, and I can get you things.  I have a way of finding things people need.”

“Can you find a stuffed pig?” Buffy asked.

“I can try, but please don’t say anything.  Say nothing, and I can help you out.”

Buffy nodded.   “Okay then.  Later, God of Messengers…”

As Buffy left Mercurio’s house, she wondered just how she would handle what was upcoming for certain.   She didn’t want to kill someone for certain, but something told her she might not have much a choice.  Death was her gift, _and it was hers to give._


	4. Chapter Four: Santa Monica

It occurred to Buffy, as she made her way down the street, that she should, perhaps, change her hair style.  If she was to be stuck in Santa Monica, the place she disappeared from, and the police were any sort of competent, it was entirely possible that they might recognize her.   That wouldn’t be of the good at all.   It was only too bad that Willow wasn’t here to help her select a new hair style.  She’d be able to pick out something that would work and frame her head well while giving her a look that’d be hard to identify her at first glance.   It was only too bad that Willow was probably not real at all.   Sunnydale, after all, had been simply a hallucination caused by the Slayer delusion… Except… The dream.  Maybe there was more to it than she thought. _Bored now.  Need to find time to play with the puppy._

Buffy shuddered.  She wasn’t sure if that voice came from her own memories of a delusion or if it was one of the other voices she’d been hearing, but the tone was all too familiar.   She didn’t want to deal with a vampire Willow, even if she now was a vampire herself.   The idea of staking someone with the face of a friend had always frightened her, sometimes even more than the idea of becoming a vampire herself.   She’d had to kill Angel once, and it had nearly destroyed her.  If she’d had to do the same to Willow, Xander or Giles?  It would have.   Somehow in the back of her mind, she’d known she’d have to do something to Angel at some point, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with Angelus.   _No friends, no family, no hope… what’s left?_

“Me.” Buffy slipped into an alleyway on her way toward the beach, and she stepped out onto the street that ran right in front of the Asylum club.   She heard the thrumming beat inside the club from where she stood in the street, and her hands curled into fists.   Jeanette Voerman had a lot to answer for.   The club owner probably knew what had happened with Sammy, and in all likelihood, it was probably the first place that anyone would look for her.   Buffy looked around at the cars on the street nearby and grimaced.  There.  Her father’s Toyota Matrix.  Why the hell had he driven that thing to Santa Monica?   Couldn’t he have left the search up to the cops?   

Damn.  She’d have to cross that bridge when she came to it, but for now, she had a job to do.  A job, which unfortunately, did not put Jeanette Voerman within striking distance.   After she’d retrieved the explosives for Mercurio, however, she’d make sure that her displeasure with the club’s owner was felt.   She didn’t want to _kill_ her, but Jeanette definitely deserved a hard punch across the jaw for what she did.  Still.   The job.   Explosives.  Astrolite.  _Space is dangerous.  Explosive decompression is the scariest thing to think of._

Following the street down, she came to the walkway that led to the Pier.  The gate was closed and she could see police tape blocking off an alley just beyond the entrance.   Oh.  Right.   A few people passing by mentioned something about hearing how the murdered person had been torn apart, and they looked like they’d been eaten somewhat.  She remembered finding the body, and she couldn’t really disagree.  Dismemberment, and the wounds… And lack of blood.   Maybe it _had_ been a vampire, but what kind of vampire would blatantly break the Masquerade in that way?  Another Sad Bat?   Poor Sammy.  She had been so distraught after seeing the body that Buffy couldn’t help but agree to do whatever it was she wanted.

And after the Light Daughter of Janus had shown up, Sammy wanted to go wherever the woman led.  Buffy shook her head.   There was more than one way that she could go to get to the beach.   She didn’t want to scale the locked fence, not with people probably watching.  Santa Monica wasn’t Sunnydale, and she doubted that it had any of the normal things she’d associated with her hallucinatory town.  So instead, she made her way through the tunnel that led to the beach, only to be stopped by the approaching of a dark-skinned woman with strange looking eyes.

“Up there, through that chainlink gate and up those stairs,” the woman said, and Buffy narrowed her eyes.  The woman felt a bit off.   She was a vampire… of sorts.  She didn’t really feel all that strong.

“Come again?” Buffy cocked her head.  She was pretty sure that she knew what the woman was talking about, but she needed to be sure.

“The men you’re looking for.  They’re in the house up there,” she said, and Buffy nodded.

“Thanks, miss…” Buffy trailed off, but the woman snorted and backed away, clearly having done her part.  Maybe the woman was a seer of sorts, and Buffy made her way toward the chain-link.  _Spread out too thin, she sees but she does not understand. She does not hear, does not taste._

A group of other… of sorts vampires stood around a campfire, one of them shirtless, staring at the waves.  Buffy looked up to the beach house and back to the man, grimacing.   Mercurio had been a little light on the information about the people that had beaten him, left him for dead, but she couldn’t really blame the guy with how he looked.  Shoot.   Maybe if she had a little bit more an idea of what was up there…   The man.  She’d talk to the shirtless guy.   Somehow he still had a tan of sorts.  Maybe he cheated and used spray tan or something.

“Evening,” Buffy said, approaching the decently attractive shirtless brunette.   “I was hoping you could—”

Buffy stepped backward when she saw the man drop into a defensive stance.   His voice was tinged with an Australian accent.  “Hey listen, I’ve told you people before, we’re just here hanging out.  We’re not hunting or anything.  Ask Julia at the Asylum, she’ll vouch for us.  There’s no need to bother the weaklings.”

Buffy raised her hands in a placating manner, and she grimaced. _Thin Bloods or not.  Harbingers of the apocalypse or not.  They were mine, and a good Imperator takes care of her subjects._

“I’m not here to play bop the Thin Blood,” Buffy said.   “You haven’t done anything wrong, right?”

“Right,” the man said.  “It’s just…”

“I don’t want to know, E.”  Buffy closed her held up hand.   Where had that name come from?  It seemed to be right, but she hadn’t even heard it in a whisper.  Still, he’d referenced Julia.  Maybe she could get some more information about her sire out of him later if she offered to help him.  Her voice softened.   “Look… I just… I need some help.   Some information about what’s up there.   Do you know how many guys there are?”

“How did you…?” E trailed off, and Buffy just looked at him.   “Right, never mind.  Probably like Rosa.   There’s about five guys up there, but four of them are usually blitzed out of their mind.  Except the black guy.  He’s usually the worst.   Not that you should have trouble with him.  Your type usually manages well enough when hunting us.”

Buffy nodded.  “Thank you, E.   So, they’re just normal guys then, nothing wiggy about them?”

“Wiggy?   You Americans…”   E shook his head.  “They’re human.  Least as far as I can tell.   Definitely not like you.”

Buffy smiled. _He seeks answers in his lily._

“Thank you again, E,” Buffy said, and she started toward the chain link gate.  She’d have to figure out how to repay the guy at some point.  He’d had no reason to trust her other than her sire’s name, but she hadn’t even mentioned that.  As such, she also had avoided mentioning the fact that the Jester Prince had decapitated her sire the previous evening.  Sure, she probably would have wanted to throttle Julia, but if she’d survived, Buffy doubted that she’d have actually tried to kill the older vampire.   Sure, becoming a vampire had long been one of her fears, but it was one she’d gotten to face toward the end of her Sophomore year.   Her fears had adjusted since then.   

Besides, she was about eighty percent certain that she still retained something that resembled a soul, unlike the vampires that she’d encountered in the Sunnydale hallucination.   This was a good thing, even if her morality was starting to change.  Maybe it had something to do with the change in diet.   Blood was necessary for life after all.  She glanced to the top of the steps. These people would have plenty, if she needed it.

Mercurio wanted these people to suffer for what he’d been through, but all she needed to do was get the explosives.  If she managed to get back Mercurio’s money in the process, that’d be great, but it wasn’t completely necessary for this.  All she needed was the explosives, and it didn’t matter how she got them.

Buffy climbed the steps, and she walked up toward the house.  The beach house was in terrible state of repair, with odd stains covering the wooden walls.  One of the windows was broken, the glass still littering the ground beneath it.  Out front of the house, a shirtless white guy, likely one of the junkies, stood lighting a cigarette while holding a baseball bat.   Buffy was fairly certain she could take him if need be, but he might make too much noise.  So, instead, assuming she could keep it together long enough, she would channel her inner valley girl.

Buffy sauntered up to the junkie.  “Like, oh my God, is this the place where the stuff for the party can be gotten?  I mean, I totally must have blanked and gotten lost.  Do you know, is this where Dennis lives?  And he likes to party, right?”

“I like to party,” said the junkie, whose name really wasn’t all that important to Buffy at the moment.  She smacked his hand away as he started to reach for her chest.  She’d made sure to do it lightly, but she wanted to grab it and bury her fangs into it, draining the guy and…. Okay then.  Step back a second.  It wasn’t worth it.

“Like, eww…” Buffy scrunched up her nose.  _Darkness will claim him soon enough._   “Is this Dennis’s place or not?”

“Fine, yeah… You can go in.”  

“Thank you!” Buffy shook her head once she was past the big guy.  She must have been starting to get hungry, as it had taken an act of self-control to not tear that guy’s arm off and feast on his innards.   Hopefully Dennis would be reasonable, and she’d be able to get the explosives easily.

Buffy stepped inside, and she stepped through the house to a room she could see through the front window.  Two people were inside, a sharply dressed black man, and a white guy in a hoodie.   The sharply dressed guy had to be Dennis.  _But where’s Mr. Wilson to rein in his menace?_

Both men noticed Buffy, but it was Dennis who approached her in a confident gait.  “Now, what could a cutie like you want from a place like this?”  Buffy got ready to open her mouth to speak, but Dennis held up a hand. Rude.  “Nah, I’m speaking right now, girlie.  You look good, but I just figure I should give you the warning first.   Before we do business.  Before any money changes hands at all, I need to tell you this.  You need to hear it.  If you try to cross me, I will fuck you.  If you tell the cops about me, I will find you, and then I will fuck you. If you are a cop?  I will fuck you and your whole family, including the squirrel in the front yard.   Now that that’s out of the way, what can I do for you?”

“That’s a lot of fucking,” Buffy said, using his own word against him.  “Is that the only way you get off?  Because I mean, I could pretend to cross you and help you in that matter.”

“You a whore?”

“Not exactly, no…”  Buffy shook her head. “I’m here for the astrolite.  You know, the explodey kind?  Best kind of party.”

“You know, you’re the second person to ask me about that shit tonight.  Considering that’s definitely not a popular item, I have to wonder why you thought I might have some.”  Dennis sneered, crossing his arms across his chest.  _Dennis the Menace explodes on his own_.

Buffy crossed her own arms.  As much as she hadn’t really wanted to walking in, it seemed like Mercurio might be getting some of his wish after all. “How about we do this the easy way, Dennis?   Give it to me, and you’ll walk out of here.”

“Little thing like you?” Dennis smirked.  Oh, this guy had everything coming to him.   He indirectly threatened her family, he threatened her, and he did something to poor Mercurio.  “You’re what, one hundred fifteen at most?  Girlie, you have no idea what you’re messing with.   Load the boat and get it ready, boys!  We’re going shark fishing tonight!”

Buffy slipped into an offensives stance, jumping forward at Dennis.   Her fangs flared in the low light, but she didn’t intend on drinking.   Instead, she slammed a fist into the well-dressed man’s chin, right under the jawline.  She followed up with a shot to his neck, and then she heard a gunshot and she felt the bullet penetrate her from the back and out the front.   That… felt odd and strangely wrong, but it didn’t scare her so much as increase her rising anger.  These people were scum.  These people were trying to kill her.  These people… They… They…  They deserved everything and anything.

Another bullet struck Buffy in the chest, and she could hear something from Dennis about finding her family.   No.   He wouldn’t.   Buffy’s vision tinged red, as she wrapped her body around Dennis and drove her fangs into his neck.   She drank deep and long.  The man had threatened her family.   He’d lost all rights.   These junkies would follow him through anything.  They’d follow him into the grave.   As Dennis’s last bit of vitae ended in her stomach, she snarled bestially.      _Great rage leads to great madness._

She gave in.   She would show these junkies just what they had unleashed.

* * *

When Buffy came out of her rage, she couldn’t quite stop the momentum of her fist as she splintered the desk.   She looked around the house, her vision no longer tinged red, and she simultaneously felt a sense of satisfaction and disgust.   She wasn’t hungry anymore, as she’d had more than her fill from the scumbags that had lived here.   Buffy breathed out a breath she no longer needed.  What she saw as she passed through the house…  Buffy couldn’t believe that _she_ had done it.  She made her way into the beach house’s bathroom and looked into the mirror.  She hadn’t known what to expect, as she didn’t really think she’d have a reflection, but it turned out she did have one; it should have horrified her.

Buffy’s chin dripped with blood that had escaped her mouth when she’d drank her fill.   Her blouse, which she’d bought only a week prior to this point, was ruined. Bullet holes, rips, tears, blood stains, and more all adorned her blouse and pants.   Her once-white blouse matched the red dripping down her face, but the revealed skin underneath was unblemished save for the drying blood.  Whatever wounds she’d taken had healed, completely.   _Always about the blood.  Blood is life._

Buffy stared at her reflection, which cocked its head at her with a smile.  “Run and catch… run and catch… the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch…  How the kine run, how they hide, they fight, and they die.   Look at how powerful you are, how lovely and right this is.   To be adorned, to be loved by the very life-giving essence.”

“Okay,” Buffy said, stretching out the O sound as she stared down her reflection which gestured to her, stepping out of the mirror toward her.   “So, the weird thing is that entirely made sense.   Care to make with the ‘splainy?  What happened?”

“You ripped their grubby little hearts out,” Her reflection moved around behind her, snaking arms around her into a hug.   “Tore out their throats and fed greedily…”

“I was going to…” Buffy shook her head as she felt the arms on her.  “I was going to leave them alive.”

“The Fleet-Footed God or the Jester Prince would have finished the job had you not,” her reflection laid its head on her shoulder, so it could speak directly into her ear.   “And it was so nice doing so, was it not?  Killing without a care?”

“Want.  Take.  Have,” Buffy said, echoing Faith’s motto from her hallucination.   To a hallucination.   She could feel skin on her skin, breath on her cheek, and the weight settled on her shoulders.   Her reflection had left the mirror entirely and she now stared at a blank surface, reflecting what was behind her, rather than the two that stood in front of it.  “I’ve heard it before, and it feels nice… but I need to think about the Masquerade.  Not everywhere has Sunnydale’s tendency to ignore things.”

Buffy noted that she really didn’t feel all that guilty about killing the men.  They’d threatened her family, after all, and she couldn’t allow anyone to threaten her family.   There was a reason her mother and Dawn were typically left alone in Sunnydale, and whether that was real or not, she couldn’t see herself applying a different philosophy here.  Family was off-limits. Period.  While she was certain her reflection had more to say, she didn’t want to hear it.   Stepping forward, she turned on the faucet and started washing the blood off her face.   When she looked up from the sink, her reflection once more was in the mirror, and her face was nearly clean.   Close enough.  Her clothes were a lost cause though, and she’d have to do something about that before getting back into town unless she wanted to go through the sewers.  _Under the ground lurk rats and beasts and the most intriguing small structures._

She left the bathroom and headed to find Dennis’s corpse.   She needed to get the astrolite and possibly Mercurio’s money as well.  With everyone up here dead, she was sure it wouldn’t take all that long to obtain the items, assuming she didn’t destroy them while she was pissed.  Dennis’s corpse laid where she left it, untouched, unlike the junky whose entrails decorated the room she was in.   She really hadn’t been all that subtle in taking them down.   Crouching down, she patted at Dennis’s clothes, looking for anything that stood out.   There!   In his lapel pocket was a wallet, and she opened it.  Inside the wallet was identification for a Mercurio Steele along with a decent amount of cash, entirely in one hundred dollar bills.   If this was what Mercurio intended on paying for the astrolite, it seemed to be an expensive product.   Ah, there we go. A keycard. 

Dennis had a vault around here somewhere.   She walked along the walls until she reached a certain point along the interior wall and brushed off the entrails, licking her fingers afterward.   It might not have been fresh blood anymore, but it still tasted better than the blood pack she had in her fridge.  It only slightly disturbed her that she was willing to do something like this.   It must have been something about being a vampire, even if she still had her soul.  Underneath the entrails was a poster which she easily moved aside, revealing a small electronic vault.  She used the keycard on it and it popped open with ease.   More money sat inside the vault, which she pocketed. Want, take, have, and she grabbed the container of what must have been the astrolite from within.

Clearly this wasn’t the mission that the Jester Prince wanted her to go on, not if Mercurio was supposed to retrieve the explosives.  It didn’t make sense for him to want a group of junkies eliminated.  He probably wanted her to do more, which meant when she got back to Mercurio, he’d have something else for her.   Lovely.   

Oh hey, one of the more intact junkies had a leather jacket.  She just needed to reach down and manipulate him so that… Okay, this was a little gross.  Sure, she’d killed the guy, but now she was touching a dead guy and taking his jacket.   

“Copying me now, Slayer?”  Spike asked as she finally got the jacket off the body.

“It’s nice, and I’m covered in blood,” Buffy said, slipping the jacket on over her bloodstained clothes.   “Nothing like you and Nikki Wood.”

“Mmm, keep thinking that, cutie.   Love your handiwork, by the way.   ‘Swhat they get for threatening Joyce.”

“And Dad,” Buffy said.   “Dad’s important too.”

“And your bird, except I think that was more implied.   It’s good the Nibblet didn’t see.”  Spike appeared near a body.  “Could you imagine her reaction to this?  Or maybe you’d have killed her too…”

Buffy shook her head.  “I couldn’t… She’s not—”

“Real?” Spike asked, smirking.  “All right, love, have it your way.  Vampires aren’t real and neither was Sunnydale.  Except, hey.”

Buffy pushed past the hallucination and left the house, leather coat trailing behind her in the wind.   She couldn’t let herself dwell on what Spike said, not when she had so much to deal with already. Sunnydale couldn’t be real because _this_ was reality.   Vampires didn’t die when a stake went through their heart; they were just paralyzed.   Vampires didn’t lose their souls upon turning, which was important because it meant _she_ still had her soul.   They just… Well, near as she could tell, she felt for the humans less.  In her hallucination, the only time she’d killed anyone was when those knights were after Dawn.   She supposed she could equate killing Dennis and his Menaces to something like that, except she’d drained them dry.   She was a vampire now, and she’d…  She’d either accept it, or she’d let herself die.   Death might have been her gift, but she just couldn’t take it right now.   She didn’t want to go into the final embrace.   _Some gifts can be returned.  Just need to bring the right receipt._

Still.  She’d have to adjust to the situation.  She didn’t fully understand her situation yet, and even with the help of the voices, she still needed more information.   She didn’t have a Watcher or confidant yet, and with Mercurio working for the Jester Prince, Lacroix, she wasn’t really sure she could trust him.   Maybe, just maybe, she might be able to trust the people down by the beach, but she needed to know more about them first.   What was a Thin Blood, exactly?  The voices had provided the name, and she’d used it like she knew what she was talking about; she didn’t though.   Maybe E would have some answers that she could use.   If not, she could always get them to give her some clothing.   She _really_ didn’t want to walk the streets of Santa Monica while covered in blood, especially not when there were cops out and about.

Buffy made it down the stairs and out the chain link fence onto the beach.  Several of the people that had been gathered around the fire were now lying down on the sand, but E just stood there, watching her as she approached.   

“Hey, you,” E said, giving her a once over once she got within range.   “Looks like you managed to deal with those guys up there just fine, didn’t you?”

“Just call me Power Girl,” Buffy said jokingly, and then she winced as she remembered Celia.   “Or Batgirl or Batwoman or Miss Marvel, I mean, I’m not really wearing a costume, and capes are kinda tacky.  But they all take out the bad guys and I did it and they won’t really be hurting anyone again.”

“Okay, slow down, miss,” E said, shaking his head.  “I’m not so sure one of your type really counts as a superhero anyway.”

“Why not?” Buffy asked.  “I have super powers, and I can totally be a hero if need be.”

E just looked down at her blood-soaked clothes, and Buffy felt like blushing.  She couldn’t, obviously, with no blood able to color her cheeks, but that didn’t change the fact that she felt like it.

“That reminds me,” Buffy said, trying to play off her embarrassment at being called out.  “I need a change of clothes.    I don’t suppose any of you have spares, do you?”

“We might,” E said.  “What’s in it for us?”

_He searches for the lily he threw away…_ Buffy cocked her head as she listened to the voice.   “Maybe I can help you find your lost flower…  Why did you throw it away?”

“Flower?  You mean… Lily?  She’s not lost.  She’s gone. Probably on with some other guy now and ruining his life.  She’s the reason I’m like this, you see?  The reason people like you want to hunt me down like I’m some harbinger of the apocalypse.”

Buffy frowned.  “I don’t want to hunt you down, and my sire didn’t either… You said that Julia did things to help you.   Did she explain to you what you are?”

“Nothing beyond Thin Blood, which she probably told you,” E said.   “Other vampires don’t like us, and I don’t really know why.   Maybe you might know.”

Buffy shrugged.  “Julia’s not so much with the talky now.   Given that the Jester kinda had the Sheriff kill her.”

“Wait, what?”  E shook his head.  “I’m not hearing you right.  Julia’s dead?”

“Dust in the wind,” Buffy said with a sigh.  “I nearly was too.  The Jester plays for power as his influence wanes.  He holds me under his thumb and I wriggle…”

“Sorry, what?”  E asked, and Buffy frowned.  She had been perfectly clear there.  Maybe she needed to explain things a little better.

“He tries to grasp this city in his fist, but things slip between his fingers.” Buffy shook her head.   She needed to get control of this.  Metaphors weren’t the best for being used here.  “Never mind.  He killed Julia and he has me working for him.  That’s all you really need to know.”

“But if he killed Julia, what can we do about it?  She was supposed to be our protection, our help.  Without her around, who will keep the others from hunting us for sport?”

“I will,” Buffy said.  These Thin Bloods hadn’t done anything wrong other than be sired poorly.  They felt weaker than she did for certain, closer to human than vampire, but they still were vampires.   “So long as you don’t give me reason not to, I will protect you.”

“Oh thank you, miss.   Uh...” E paused and scratched the back of his head.  “I… don’t think you ever mentioned your name, fa—”

“Finish that statement, and I’ll make sure the next blood you drink is through a straw,” Buffy said with a sunny smile.   “I’m Buffy.”

“Sorry,” E said, a little cowed.  He looked down at Buffy’s blood-stained clothes again.  “Uh… right.   I think Jenna has some spare clothing that might be your size.   Oi, Jenna, come here a sec.”

A light-skinned redhead pushed herself off the beach and walked over to the pair.  

“What do you want, E?”  asked the girl.  She felt about as weak as E, but that didn’t matter.   What mattered was the look that came over her face when she looked at Buffy, something halfway between admiration and terror.   “Oh God, what’s she doing here?  We haven’t done anything!  God, why are you here?”

Buffy couldn’t help herself.  She wanted to assuage the girl’s fears, but something just…  well, she wanted to do this too.   She put on her best Austrian accent and said, “Your clothes… give them to me.”

“What?”  Jenna looked confused, and Buffy couldn’t blame her.  Still, the girl looked to be about her own size, and Buffy needed something clean before she could go back to Mercurio.

“E says you have some spare clothes.  I need them,” Buffy said simply.  “Could you go grab them?”

“S-Sure, whatever you say, miss…” Jenna backed away.   E seemed to be looking on like nothing was out of place, but Buffy knew it was a little wrong of her to just demand the clothing.  She was going to offer to pay, but Jenna had backed away too soon.   Buffy watched as the girl went around the fire to grab her pack, and Buffy stepped a little further away from the campfire as she did so.  Not that she expected anything to happen, but she just didn’t want to stand too close to it.  _The clothing is brought to you by the letter E and his mouse._

Jenna brought over a backpack full of clothes, and Buffy took it, giving the girl forty bucks for them before making her way closer to the water and out of sight of most people.   There really wasn’t a perfect place to change where nobody would see her, but she made the best of the situation she had.  Pulling the clothes out of the bag, Buffy looked them over.   Okay, they really weren’t all that embarrassing, just a skirt that’d stop at her mid-thigh and a midriff-baring tube top.  She’d be able to wear the leather coat over it and look somewhat presentable.  Oh hey, there was a pair of cute stockings in here too.  That’d work.   She’d probably buy some new underwear later, but for now she’d stick with what she had on for bottoms, as for a bra, she’d just wrap her chest a bit.   

These clothes would have to do for now, but the moment she could, she was going to go shopping.  Surely some clothing stores were open after dark. Buffy buried her bloodied clothes in the sand after she finished changing, and she brushed as much of it off herself as she could before she started back up toward Santa Monica.

Buffy passed by the woman who’d told her of the men at the beach house on her way out here, and she paused.   The woman stepped closer to her as if to get a look before clutching her head slightly, as if she felt a headache.

“You have been… no, you will go to China,” said the woman.  _The red rose speaks truths and lies.  Discerning the difference is half the trouble._

“Huh?” Buffy articulated.  China didn’t really sound so bad.   It was only too bad that the only Chinese food she could really enjoy now were the Chinese.   “China?”

“Why’s he smiling? Is he the father? Is it the father behind him?” 

“What?”  Buffy couldn’t quite focus on this. Something sounded off here. She knew things.

“No, A basement… a crypt, it’s open.  No, don’t open it… From beneath… It rises… You pushed your way through the dirt… No!  From beneath you it devours!  Don’t open it!”

“Rosa,” Buffy said, drawing on her limited Spanish.  “What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry…  I see… nothing—disregard what I said.”  Rosa shook her head.

“You see things,” Buffy said.   “Like a seer?  How often do your visions come true?”

“I don’t know,” Rosa admitted.  “But they feel…”

“Real enough,” Buffy nodded.   

“No, never mind.  I don’t know what I’m talking about.  Please forget what I said.”

“Tell me,” Buffy said.   

“Not for free,” Rosa said.   “This is not your destiny.  Every time I sleep, the future plays out before me.  I know the ending… it will end over and over until I cease to dream.  I know your questions.  For one hundred dollars, I will tell you the answers that you don’t want to hear.  I need to get out of Santa Monica.  To get somewhere away from here.”

“When the end comes, Rosa,” Buffy said, looking at the Thin Blood’s eyes.  “Nowhere will be safe.  It takes people willing to fight against it to stop it.”

“If you do not pay me, I cannot answer you.  I will not.”  

Buffy shook her head.  “I don’t need to know the future that badly, Rosa.  I’m not going to be Prophecy Girl.  Good luck to you.”

Buffy made her way back into the city, avoiding the Pier.  She’d seen the shape the body was in already, and she didn’t need to see it again.  Something definitely did it to that person, but judging from how most of the vampires acted, she doubted it was a member of the Jester’s side.   Buffy wouldn’t let that stop her from finding out what the source was, especially now that she knew it probably was supernatural, thus she needed to find it and kill it.  She’d do that later, however.  She needed to get back to Mercurio with the astrolite and his wallet.  

Buffy paused once back on the street, thinking if there was anything that she was missing.  Given the shape that the Fleet-Footed God was in, he probably needed some sort of helpful drug or something to ease the pain.  Unfortunately, that meant Buffy had to go someplace she’d always hated when she was alive, especially after spending six years in one: a hospital.   Santa Monica’s hospital was just down this street, and she’d be able to get there soon.

“STOP!”  A voice cried as Buffy got ready to cross the street to get on her way.   Buffy frowned and turned toward the source of it.   It was red, octagonal, and it stood there on a pole, mocking her.   Four letters, just sitting there in the middle of its face, and it just sat there.  Smug.

“No, you stop,” Buffy had to answer it back.  It just made perfect sense.   Dumb sign.  Telling her to stop.

“STOP!”  It did it again!  Why did it do it again?  It was a sign.  It didn’t have any authority over her.  It just was there, jutting out at her.  Smug little thing.

“You stop!”  Buffy glared at the sign.   It just…  Grr…  stupid sign.   If she had an SUV, she’d make sure that it didn’t do anything more.   

“STOP!”   The sign was getting on her last nerve here.   It just needed to not tell her to stop.  That’s all.    All it needed.   But the power behind the sign had to come from a demon.  They always popped out of nowhere.  Stop signs.   Just sitting there.  Smug.  Telling people to stop.

“Grr… you stop!”  Buffy growled and the sign remained unchanged again.  Still, she just…  No.   There was no further point in arguing with it.  It wasn’t going to change its nature.  Signs. “You’ve made a powerful enemy today, sign…”

Buffy turned and walked away from it, ignoring the sign’s cries of “STOP” as she did so.   She made it across the street before it hit her.  She’d been arguing with a _sign_.  An inanimate object.  A smug inanimate object, but it still wasn’t going to change ever.  The only way it could change would be if someone painted over it.  It was also telling the _cars_ to stop, not her.  _All things are real.  All things speak.  It just takes the right kind of listening…_

Regardless, she was steps away from getting what Mercurio needed.  She just needed to go into the building that was right there, the Santa Monica medical center.

“Hey!  Hey you!”  A high pitched nasally male voice stopped her on the stairs as she was on her way into the medical center’s emergency room.   She turned toward its source, a college-age white man dressed in a grey sport jacket over a grey shirt with khakis.  God, was he going to hit on her?  He wasn’t even cute.  “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”

Buffy brought a hand up to her face.  She thought _she_ was supposed to be the crazy one.   This guy was human, definitely not a vampire and he was asking about the vampires.   He must have been some kind of conspiracy nut.  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on, yeah you do.  I ain’t gonna tell anyone.  Don’t bullshit me, lady. I know a vamp when I see one.  I just wanna talk.”

Buffy raised an eyebrow.  She didn’t know how old this kid was, but something was off about him in her senses.  He felt almost a little like Mercurio.  “About what?”

“Ah, hell yeah.  I knew it!  I knew it from the moment I saw you. I could just sense it, you know?   You had to be a vampire.   The name’s Knox, Knox Harrington.  Pleased to meet you.”

“Buffy.” She looked at the overeager man.

“Wait, that’s the name of the girl that fine piece of ass is looking for at the Asylum, isn’t it?  What was her name again?”

It took an extreme force of will for Buffy to not reach over and throttle the man.  “Samantha.   Her name’s Samantha.”

“Oh, shit.  You must have been turned recently if someone’s looking for you.”

“Okay, hold up,” Buffy held up a hand.  “How do you know any of this at all?”

“Well, I’m a ghoul.   I really didn’t know any of this until a few months ago, when my master found me.  He showed up and, all of the sudden, bam.  Vampires are real, and all sorts of other shit.  Blew my mind.”  Knox just seemed so eager.   Like an annoying puppy.  _Ruff. Rabid puppies get the shot. Rrruff!_

“Small words, Goldie.   Ghoul part first.  Make with the ‘splainy.”

“Splainy?  Oh, right!   Well, you see, what I was told is a ghoul is made by a vampire sharing its power with a human through feeding the human some of their vampire blood.  They get a little bit of a boost, become smarter, stronger, faster than the average human.  Heal better too.   That’s what makes them a ghoul.”

Buffy nodded.  That made a bit of sense with how Mercurio was and how he was holding together after all of this.   “And what are you doing here?”

“Well, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but the master gave me a secret mission.  I’m supposed to do something for him, and oh, right.  It’s been really great talking with you, Buffy.  But I should probably get going.   Important stuff to do and all that.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”  Definitely an annoying puppy.  Whoever made him a ghoul probably regretted it somewhat. 

“Good luck with whatever you’re doing…”

Buffy shook her head and made her way inside.   Her skin crawled the moment she stepped into the hospital.  Even if she wouldn’t ever need to be examined by a proper doctor again, hospitals just made her feel wrong.   Still.  This was the likely place that would have what she needed to get for Mercurio, so she walked up to the person at the front desk.

Sitting at the front desk was a brunette woman dressed in a blue floral print blouse with dirty blonde hair.  She wore a professional amount of make up on her face, and Buffy could see from her pale skin that she likely hadn’t been in the sun recently much, likely due to working the night shift.  After all, the woman was human.   

“If you’ll wait your turn, you’ll be seen,” the woman said, an exasperated tone hanging on her voice.  Buffy frowned.  She wasn’t really sure how she’d get past this woman without alerting way too many people to her presence.  She didn’t exactly want to wait for the doctors, after all.   There had to be a way.  _My childe, use your instincts.  Share yourself with her._

Buffy frowned.  That sounded like Julia.   Buffy supposed that it’d work.   She just needed to get through.   

“Excuse me, I just need to get back into the back there,” Buffy said, focusing on sharing herself.  Showing the woman what she saw, how she saw things… “That’s okay, right?”

The woman hadn’t been looking Buffy in the eyes, but Buffy saw it happen.  A shudder came over the woman, and her face shifted from exasperation into a smile.  “Of course, Doctor Smith.  You should be able to just go in fine.   I’ll buzz you in since you don’t have your keycard.”

“Thank you, miss…” Buffy said as she slipped by.   Whatever she’d done, the human hadn’t resisted it at all.   She felt a little bad about it, but all she was doing was sharing herself.   It’d wear off eventually, she was sure.   

Buffy paced the halls, looking for the pharmacy cabinet or something where she could get something strong for the Fleet-footed God when she passed an open doorway.  She could see into the room beyond, a young brunette woman laid face down on an examination table, but Buffy could smell the blood.   Buffy stepped inside to look at the girl, who laid down in a pool of her own blood on the table.   She seemed to be nearly gone, both in body and mental capacity, but that wasn’t what surprised her.

She _recognized_ the brunette.   It wasn’t Sammy, thank God, but it was someone else.   Someone whom she hadn’t really expected to ever see again, given that the last time she’d seen the woman, Buffy had been in _Sunnydale_.   Cordelia Chase, or a woman who very much resembled her, was sprawled out in the room, dying, and Buffy couldn’t let that happen.   _What happens when the city of angels has no Angel left?_

Buffy strode across the room, grabbing a scalpel off of a nearby tray, and she made her way to Cordelia’s side.   She brought the scalpel to her wrist and slit open the vein.  The only way she knew of to save this young woman was what Knox said outside.   Vampire blood lets humans heal.   She’d heal Cordelia. 

Buffy rolled Cordelia onto her back and placed her bleeding wrist near the brunette’s mouth, letting blood pool into it.   After a few seconds, Cordelia brought her arm up, wrapping it around Buffy’s own, pulling it closer to her as she drank from Buffy.   After a little bit, Buffy pulled her arm away, and the girl started stirring properly.

“Mmm….” Cordelia pushed herself up a bit.  “You… wait… what did you do? What did you do to me, Buffy?”

“Wait… you recognize me?”  Buffy asked.   “I didn’t do anything…”

“No… you did something… I can feel it.  I kissed your wrist.   What did you do?  Why do I know you, Buffy Summers?”

“ _Nothing_ ,” Buffy said.  “Leave it… Forget it happened, please.  Go back to sleep.  When you get up, I’ll be gone.”

“But…” Cordelia fell forward and back to sleep, thankfully.  Buffy walked out of the room.   She needed to get Mercurio the medicine so she could go deal with him.  She could focus on the fact that Cordelia was _here_ and that Cordelia _knew her_ later.  The implications of the situation struck her.  _At least this isn’t a world without shrimp…_

* * *

Buffy made her way into Mercurio’s house, having retrieved some morphine from the hospital after dealing with the local Cordelia.  Maybe, just maybe it was possible that there were alternate universes involved, or maybe she’d seen Cordelia around somewhere and incorporated the woman into her hallucinations as a face to use for a friend.   Of course, that didn’t quite follow with Cordy knowing her.   Of course, that could also have been something to do with her blood.   Knox hadn’t been exactly forthcoming on what it meant to be a ghoul other than his increased vitality, healing, etc.  Frankly, the man had reminded her perhaps a bit too much of Owen with his enthusiasm for it.  Whoever his vampiric master was, he or she must have had his or her hands full.  _It’s always difficult when the unknowing leave the nest._

Maybe Mercurio would know more about ghoul status, assuming he was any more healed than before.  Of course, given that he’d managed to drag himself from wherever Dennis had dumped him, ( _off the cliff with that fool_ ) Buffy was certain that he’d probably be in somewhat better shape when she managed to get to him, even if he still was on that couch.   Buffy pushed open the door to Mercurio’s living room, and she frowned.  Mercurio laid face down on the couch, unmoving from the bloodstain there, but it looked like a few of his wounds had stopped bleeding altogether. His breathing seemed to be quite a bit steadier as well, but it was possible that the man had passed out rather than deal with the pain.

Buffy took out a bottle of the morphine and a syringe.   There really wasn’t any helping it. After pulling the sterile syringe out of its packaging, she withdrew some of the morphine from its bottle and moved closer to Mercurio.  

“Fleet-footed God guy, you awake?”  Buffy frowned.   She knew his name.   She wanted to say his name correctly, but somewhere between her brain and her mouth, it kept getting changed.   It’s not like she actually thought the guy was Mercury or Hermes, (which would be kinda neat, mind), but it was almost like a compulsion to not refer to him correctly.   “I’ve got something for you…”

Mercurio stirred on the couch, pushing himself back into a posture that let him look at Buffy.  Choosing to ignore the smell of blood, among other unpleasant smells, Buffy injected the morphine into the likely ghoul’s arm.  Mercurio breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Sweet merciful Christ, that’s the stuff,” Mercurio said, a genuine smile ending up on his face.  “So, you have anything else?’

“The explode-y goodness?  Yeah, I’ve got it.”   She’d had to do far too much to get it, but she got it.

“Yeah?   Did you waste those sons of bitches?”

Buffy felt torn between wincing and preening with pride.   The men had deserved everything they got, but she’d lost control.   It felt way too good to do that.   She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d need to do to keep control, and without a sire around, she really didn’t have anyone who had the responsibility to teach her.  Jack had helped in a limited manner, but it wasn’t his job.

“They felt like shark hunting.  I used them as bait,” Buffy said.  Might as well give the illusion that she didn’t actually care about killing them.  Maybe she wouldn’t.   

“Good, I hope it was painful.  You uh, didn’t happen to get my money back, didja?” 

Buffy reached into the leather jacket, pulled out Mercurio’s wallet and tossed it to him.  “There.  Try not to lose it again.”

“Oh, good… I’ll be able to get some new kidneys with this.  Thanks, fledge, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Buffy.”  She crossed her arms.

“Huh?” Mercurio looked a bit confused.

“My name.  It’s Buffy.”

“Fine.  Buffy.”  Mercurio looked her over.  “Wait, weren’t you wearing something different earlier?”

“Messy work, dealing with your mess.  So, the explosives.  What’s the what with them?”  Buffy just wanted to get this done and over with.   Whatever Lacroix had planned, whatever job he needed done, she just wanted it done so she could have the jester out of her hair.   Right now, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to actually slay the guy, but she was certain that if she had to interact with him much more, that would probably change.

“Ah, right… The astrolite.  Basically that stuff’s about twice as powerful as TNT.  Instant demolition.  You want to be really far away when you engage the timer.   You need to make a place disappear—a warehouse.  It’s supposed to be some sort of Sabbat interest.”

“So I’m after the sad bats again.  Okay.  Where do I go?”  Buffy cocked her head.  The voices seemed to be whispering in unison, but she couldn’t make out anything clear at the moment.  Not more than a feeling.   “Or you… really don’t know, do you?”

“Not really.   But I know who does.  There’s a guy, he’s like you.  I never met him, but I’ve heard a lot about him through the grapevine.  If there’s anyone in the city that knows more about it than me, it’s him.”  Mercurio shifted on the couch, trying to push up a little more.

“And do you have a name and location for this man of mystery, oh God of Messengers?” Buffy asked.

“Name, yes. Location… not so much.   His name’s Heinrich Nest, but it seems like he’s in hiding right now for the moment.”

“Why?”

“He’s managed to piss off Therese… Therese Voerman, you know her?” 

“Club owner, right?   Asylum?  _Jeanette’s_ sister?”  Buffy tried not to let her anger with the Light Daughter of Janus overshadow any information she might be able to obtain on the other one.

“Yeah.  Her.   Word on the street says that she and Nest are feuding for some reason, and she’s called some sort of blood hunt on him.   Nest has gone underground and I don’t think he’ll come back up ‘till Therese calls it off.”

Buffy rubbed the bridge of her nose.   “So I can’t find out where this warehouse is unless I get this feud called off.”

“Well… there might be another way,” Mercurio said.  “Nest supposedly has a group of friends.  They might know where to find him.  Occasionally they go into the Asylum as well.”

“Friends.”  Who befriends a vampire?   Other vampires perhaps?   But were they actually friends or where they just allies?   “And do you have information on these friends?”

“Not much.  They’re like you, but they keep to themselves mostly.   I wish I could tell you more about them, but I’ve only heard about them.  Your best bet is probably convincing Therese.”

Buffy nodded.  Nest could probably be helpful, but she needed to get him to the point where he could actually help her.   It seemed like she’d be dealing with Jeanette a lot sooner than she’d thought.   Maybe she’d be able to figure out just what that vampire did with _her_ friend.

“So, what’s your story?” Buffy asked. “Why are you here?”

“Eh, not much to tell.  I can get anything that anyone wants at any time… It’s something I’ve always had a talent at, ‘til the astrolite anyway.  Well, back east, some major shit went down.  Big Apple, can’t go back.   Christ, I hate L.A., but whatta you gonna’ do?”

Buffy nodded.  “Well, if I need anything, I’ll know who to ask.  Thank you.”

Buffy left Mercurio’s house with a destination in mind this time.   The night still had some time left yet before she’d have to return to her haven and sleep.  She’d head to the Asylum, vent some rage onto Jeanette and then talk to her sister.   Therese had to be the more reasonable of the two, and this Nest guy could come out of hiding.  Of course, something twigged her about the name.  Heinrich Nest.  Something was far too familiar about that name.  Maybe if she managed to find one of his allies, she’d be able to actually find him, but Mercurio had been spectacularly unhelpful in giving them shape.     _Masters hide within holes.  Under the ground, trapped within._

Buffy glanced along the street as she walked to the Asylum, keeping an eye out for her father’s car.  When she’d passed it earlier, she’d been worried.  Maybe her parents had gone into the club to look for her, and knowing what she did now, she _definitely_ hoped that they’d made it out okay.   Given that the car she’d seen earlier, her father’s Matrix, no longer sat in the parking spot, she could reasonably assume that they’d given up for the evening.    Given that Knox guy had mentioned Sammy asking about her in the club, it was safe to assume that she’d made it home okay the previous night, but Buffy still had a bone to pick with Jeanette along with some questions to ask.   Hopefully Sammy had gone home.  Buffy didn’t want to have to explain her new condition to her friend.  Not yet.   Not until she had Lacroix off her back.

When Buffy had been at the Asylum as a human, she’d noted the differences in aesthetic between what she’d been to before in her hallucination and the real world, but she’d left with Julia before the club had gotten too crowded. Tonight, however, she was arriving closer to the middle of the night, and she could see the difference.  She could _feel_ the difference from the moment she stepped inside.  The music thrummed through her, its beat neatly echoing through her body, giving her the approximation of a still-beating heart.   While there really weren’t all that many more people, they felt like they were more _real_.  Perhaps that came from her new sense, the smells, the tastes, the sounds.  The club was full of food, of _people_ , and she could sense them.   

Of course, the moment she crossed the threshold into the club proper, she spotted a familiar face, pulling away from the crowd of people.  She still had her hair in pigtails, and she wore a red choker.  Tonight she wore a white blouse that was open far enough to see the red bra she wore underneath, and she sashayed over toward Buffy on heels that were high enough that they could almost be considered stilts.  They showed off her bare legs that poked out of her miniskirt.   When she got close to Buffy, she smiled.

“Well, what do we have here?   Cutie, I barely recognize you, fresh out of life and in my club…  You smell so new, like fresh morning dew made of pineapples and roses on newly planted blossoms.  Buffy, right?”

“You remembered,” Buffy said, her fingers twitching at her side.  Buffy glanced toward the bartender, frowning.  He was Kindred as well, and if she just attacked Jeanette here, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t join in.   No, she needed to be subtler.  Decking Jeanette right here would accomplish nothing.  “Miss Light Daughter of Janus herself remembers.  Do you remember my friend, too?  The girl whose neck you were sucking that night?”

“Ooh, yes, she was all dolled up for someone she liked.  It was too bad she didn’t receive anything in return until I came across her.   What were you waiting for with her, anyway?  A more open invitation?  Let me tell you, gorgeous, that girl was deliciously sexy.  We got along just like fire hoses…”

“Fire hoses,” Buffy said flatly.   

“Wh—”

“You don’t have to explain it, Jeanette.   What did you do with Sammy?” Buffy asked, crossing her arms.   She couldn’t let herself get sucked in by this girl, nor could she let Jeanette piss her off enough that she attacked her here and now.   No, there’d be a time for that later, and she could feel the power that the other vampire had.  It seemed greater than her own, yet not quite.

“Oh… a little of this… a little of that… I think the better question is what _didn’t_ we do.  That girl was freaky and awesome, and I had her screaming with delight. All… Night… Long…  but when she got up afterward, the only thing she could do was worry about her crazy friend who disappeared on her.  Now, how could her friend do something like that?”  Jeanette asked with a smirk, glancing down at Buffy.  “Oh, not that I’m condemning you, cutie.  I think you’re better off.”

Buffy clenched her hands into fists, and very carefully did not take a swing at Jeanette.  She couldn’t do that to her yet.  No matter how much the club owner deserved it. “ _What happened to her?_ ”

“Oh, Mister McDonald drove her home after speaking with Therese.   Speaking of, I really do have some business to attend to.  As riveting as this conversation is, and as much as I’d like to do to you, cutie… we’ll have to put a rain check on that.  Toodles.”  Jeanette turned from Buffy with a flick of her hair and started toward an elevator in the corner.   Judging from what she saw, that had to be what led to the office level.   _The Light Daughter of Janus consorts with kine and unclean things._

Gritting her teeth, Buffy made her way over to the bar and took a seat.   The bartender hadn’t seemed to notice her yet, but she was sure he would eventually.   Buffy needed to get up to talk with Therese to see about dealing with Nest.  She felt someone approaching, but she was still focused on what she wanted to say to the bartender.

“That woman, lass, is just fifty pounds of crazy in a ten-pound bag,” a male voice said near her, Irish accent prevalent.  Buffy clenched the counter for a second.  She recognized that voice, even if the accent was thicker than she’d ever heard from him.   “But then, I’ve always enjoyed the lunatics.   Malkavians always seem to be the most interesting conversationalists.”

“Angel…” Buffy breathed out as she turned to the man… the vampire.  His long dark hair was pulled back into a braided ponytail, likely with some gel to hold it in place.  He wore a lightly colored collared shirt and a dark sport jacket with dark slacks.  Two buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing the top of his pale chest, which matched his equally pale face.   She _felt_ this one’s presence, and he felt much like Jack had in power. _The one with the angelic face stands before thee. Does he hunt, does he sleep?_

“Now that’s a new one,” the vampire said.  “No, no, lass.  The name’s Liam.  You’re that new fledge that Julia sired, yeah?”

“… Yes, I am,” Buffy said.   “She is me.  I mean, I am she.   And we are we, and here are we with me and…  Okay, I’ll stop that…”   

“Got away with you there, did it?” Liam smiled.  “Shame about your sire.   Awful shame.   And you’re already running errands for the Camarilla, eh?”

“The jester prince calls it ‘mercy.’” Buffy shrugged.  Cordelia was already real here, why not another thing from her hallucination.  Even if this wasn’t Angel, he was close… “He wishes to consolidate his power with me as an example.”

“Mmm… So, what now?” Liam asked.  

“I need to talk with Therese Voerman about some sort of blood hunt thingy…”  

“On the Ma—on Nest?” Liam asked.   “Good luck.  I think they’re both up there at the moment arguing.  You can probably take the elevator up there, lass.”

“Buffy.”  Buffy said.  It didn’t sound right to have Angel calling her ‘lass’ when he should know her real name. 

“The poof should call you Slayer.” Spike’s voice echoed around her, but he didn’t appear.   She looked up to try and see, but he didn’t seem to want to appear.

“Right, Buffy.   When you’re done talking with Voerman, maybe you can come talk with me some more.  There are some people I’d like to introduce you to.”  Liam placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.   “Give you a little more perspective on things.”

“You’ll tell me more about Julia?” Buffy asked. 

“If you want,” Liam said.   “Now, you should probably go while you can still catch her.  I’ll get you clear with the bartender.”

“Thanks a lot…” Buffy said, and she stood, heading to the elevator.  It was time to talk to another daughter of Janus. _Beginnings and endings, light and dark, smooth and creamy, or is that just peanut butter?_

When this finished, Buffy would make sure that Jeanette understood exactly how displeased she was with her.   The Light Daughter of Janus didn’t need to die, but she definitely needed to suffer a bit.  She would.  Buffy’d make sure of it.

* * *

Buffy wished that there had been stairs.  While she wasn’t exactly scared of elevators by any means, something about being in an enclosed box spoke to a primal part of her that had _nothing_ to do with being what she was now.  When she’d returned to Sunnydale, in the hallucination, from what she’d then thought was Heaven, she’d had to break out of her own coffin and dig her way back to the surface.  Even if Sunnydale hadn’t actually been real, it had been real _to her_ , and it was at least as real as everything else she’d been experiencing since her embrace.  It was easy to see why going anywhere in an enclosed box gave her the wiggins, even if it was to ascend only one floor.   It wasn’t really a phobia, just a general feeling of unease.

She definitely did not kiss the ground once the elevator opened.  That would be undignified.

Still, as she stepped off the elevator, she noted the wood-tiled floors and red painted stucco walls.  The walls clearly had seen better days, but overall they looked to be in better shape than the actual club downstairs.   Buffy heard two voices coming from a closed door further down the hall.  One of the voices, the sweet and manipulative sounding one, clearly was Jeanette which meant that the cold icy voice had to be coming from Therese.

“…why can’t you just trust me for once?” Jeanette asked from behind the door.

“Because you always ruin things!”  The cold voice accused.   “You’re irresponsible and what you do with the kine and… others… ugh…  Childish.”

“Well, you’re a control-freak!  You never want to have any fun, drive that stick any further up your butt and you’ll be paralyzed!”

“You ruin everything, Jeanette!   You take delight in doing so!  You make it a habit to do everything you can to make my life more difficult!”  Therese’s voice reminded Buffy a little of Cordy in Queen Bitch mode.   She wasn’t really sure she wanted to interrupt the family argument, so she’d wait it out.  “Sometimes I wish I’d just let you die instead!”

“You bitch!”  Jeanette’s voice rang out, hysterical, and Buffy heard her crying, running away and then slamming a door further down the corridor.   Hearing Jeanette cry gave Buffy a strange sense of satisfaction.   Not since her days at Hemery had she heard someone so effectively reduced to tears in a way that Buffy actually enjoyed. _The Light Daughter of Janus wears her heart on her sleeve.  The Dark Daughter conceals it._

Buffy nodded, and she noted a ring on the floor.  Maybe it belonged to someone and she’d have to find them later.  She picked it up and pocketed it in her pack before knocking on the door.

“Enter,” Therese’s voice came through imperiously, and Buffy stepped inside.   Buffy nearly had to do a double take on seeing the woman’s face.   She looked identical to Jeanette, albeit with better kept hair, less crazed make-up, and a pair of glasses that sat on her face.  She also wore a sharp businesswoman’s suit that only hinted at showing cleavage with its neckline.  “Please, come in.  I must really apologize for my sister’s crassness if it made you uncomfortable at all.   She’s got a bit of a scandalous personality, but in the club business, it’s something that’s almost necessary.”

Buffy waved it off.  “It wasn’t her crassness that bothered me, Dark Daughter of Janus, just how she treated my friend the other night.”

“The other night…”  Therese narrowed her eyes.   “The kine that she brought back to her room.   My sister, consorting with them.  Disgusting.   She only does it to anger me, you know.   To ruin the reputation I have and ruin my plans.”

“That _kine_ is my friend, Dark one,” Buffy said, practically growling.    “She has a name, Samantha.”

“You were kine when you were brought in here, and now you’re not.  Not since your embrace.  You should not allow yourself to be caught up in the affairs of your food,” Therese sneered.  “Unless you like that… Never mind.   I know you were Embraced here, but what brings you back to Santa Monica?”

“The prince’s ever-present thumb,” Buffy said, and as she blinked her eyes, Spike appeared behind Therese.   “He presses me into doing something for him, which requires access to a Kindred named Nest.  A Kindred, whom I’m told you want dead.”

“Oh, I doubt she wants him dead, Slayer.   But letting people think she does?  This bitch is cold,” Spike said, peering over Therese’s shoulder.  Buffy chose not to engage him.

“Nest chose to exile himself, I assure you.  But there’s no reason that I shouldn’t hate the loathsome Nosferatu scoundrel.   Bloody Nosferatu.  They’re so… unclean.”  Therese gave a visible shudder, and Buffy frowned.   She’d seen that movie once, and she remembered some of the worst looking vampires she’d seen in Sunnydale.  Kakistos, the Master… they’d looked just wrong.  Still, so did Clem, and he turned out to be a relatively nice demon.  Judging them on the fact that they looked off and were vampires seemed to be hypocritical when she too was a vampire.   _Nest nests in his nested nest._

Helpful.   Buffy cocked her head at Therese.   “So, what’s the what with this Nest guy?  What did he do to you?”

“What _didn’t_ he do?   He interferes with my affairs.  He thinks that just because he has his little knitting circle it means that he has a right to deal with things his way rather than bending the knee to me.   The only positive thing I can say about him is his effect on my sister, but even that doesn’t last.  If you were in my place, would you let Nest compromise your authority?  Certainly not.  I’d quite like it if I never had to hear that name again.”  

“Bloody bint is racist.” Spike laughed.  “That’s got to compromise her a little.”

“So I take it this means you won’t announce the feud over?”  Buffy asked.   

“Why would I do that?  Nest has made it exceedingly hard to gain any standing in my dealings with the Camarilla. He and his partners seem to sabotage my every effort to purchase or invest in any sort of properties, and the other day they ruined a good chance of a partnership in a crucial piece of one.   Worse, they have a lawyer on retainer that locked me out of it.   Luckily, I have one of my own who will help with the remaining ventures, but one of them in particular has been, to say the absolute least, an ordeal.”

“Right, I’m out.  I’m not dealing with any bloody real estate discussion.”  Spike winked out of view at that.

Buffy rubbed the bridge of her nose.   Professionalism be damned, she needed Nest out of hiding, and the only way was to deal with this woman.   Therese wasn’t really any better than her sister, but at least she wasn’t trying to taunt her about Sammy.  Buffy didn’t feel like slaying the Dark Daughter of Janus, nor did she feel like hurting her as of yet.

“Well, maybe I can help,” Buffy said suddenly. “I’m good and handy when dealing with anything too ordeal-y.”

“Maybe…   I suppose that I can put the word out that my grievances with Nest have been swept under the rug if you help me deal with a rather burdensome spirit at a property I’m looking to invest in.   Specifically, I’m looking for its removal.”

“Wait, I’m not exactly an exorcist-y type of person.  I’m more a go in and smashy smashy kind,” Buffy said, not even questioning the fact that ghosts exist.  _Ghosts, mummies, demons, werewolves, leprechauns…_   Buffy frowned.   Leprechauns totally didn’t exist.   Just like coincidences.

“All I’m asking you to do is to retrieve a personal item of the ghost.  Assuming it is a ghost in the Hyperion Hotel.  Go in, retrieve a personal item, and come back.    I should be able to use it to excise the ghost from its haunt.”

Wait.  She thought the Hyperion was in LA proper.   Now it was in Santa Monica?  That had to be a difference from her hallucination to real life.   

“What if it’s not a ghost?” Buffy asked.

“Then deal with whatever it is and bring me proof that it’s dealt with,” Therese said.  “Then I’ll call off the feud.  You’ll find that dealing with me is on the whole better than dealing with some of the egomaniacs among my peers.  So long as you don’t cross me, my word is gold.”

“Right.  I guess I should go and be the one you’re gonna call,” Buffy said, getting ready to leave.

“Before I forget, the only way to access the area the Hyperion is in at this time of night is through a tunnel in the sewers.   You’ll need this key to open the gate for the tunnel.”  Therese pressed a key into Buffy’s palm, and Buffy pocketed it, frowning again.

“Sewers… But I just got new shoes….”  Buffy practically whined.  “Fine, Dark Daughter of Janus, I’ll do what I need to do…”

“You’d better,” Therese said.  “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some situations to set straight.”   

The Dark Daughter of Janus made her way further down the hall, and Buffy reversed herself, pausing only to look up at the painting on the wall of a bald man in a suit next to a pair of twin girls in pink dresses.   Their father, perhaps?  Maybe Janus was the vampire that sired the both of them, or maybe it had something to do with their being twins.  _Light and dark are two sides to the same As._

When Buffy finally made it back to the ground floor of the Asylum, Liam almost immediately walked up to her.

“Oh good, the poof’s back,” Spike commented from behind her.  “He looks even more like a poofter than the broody poof.  The hair does not do him any favors.”

“Buffy, how did the talk with Voerman go?”  Liam asked when he was in range.

Buffy shrugged.  “She has me doing something for her.”

“Well, how about we get out of here to meet with the people I wanted you to meet with, and you can tell us all about it…” Liam suggested, meeting Buffy’s eyes.   Buffy felt _something_ coming from the other vampire, but as it tried to grasp her mind, it slipped right off.  Whatever Liam had tried, it hadn’t worked. Not at all.

“Oh, that’s it,” Spike said.  “At least be straightforward about it.   Poof can’t get it up if he’s not in control.”

Buffy narrowed her eyes, and her voice came out in a light songlike portion.  “Liam, Liam, burning bright, how is it you wish to die this night?”

“Silly Liam, Miss Edith scolds you.  Bad.  My cousin is strong,” an English-accented female voice said as its owner approached Buffy and Liam.   Buffy recognized the woman on sight.  While her hair was shorter than the last time she’d seen her, she wouldn’t forget the beautiful, albeit pale, face.   The woman wore a pair of leather pants and a red cardigan though, rather than the silk dresses she remembered seeing her wear.

Spike and Buffy spoke in unison, upon seeing her.  “Drusilla…”

“Hello cousin,” Drusilla smiled, and Buffy swore she saw the fangs.  “The Dark Daughter of Janus sends you into the lion’s den with a steak around your neck.  We can give you a spear.”

“A spear?” Buffy sighed.  She’d mostly understood that.  It was funny because Drusilla here didn’t quite seem as insane as the Dru back in Sunnydale, yet Buffy could tell that the term cousin was correct.  Drusilla was definitely a Malkavian.  “But that’s only good for stabby goodness...  It’s not much better than a stake.”

“But it gives length which helps to push back against the oppressive thumb.”

“So many thumbs on me, I wonder if any wear gloves.”  Buffy answered back.

Dru giggled.  “Come, cousin.   We must talk about the Dark Daughter’s plans.”

“All she wants me to do is help with a ghost in the Hyperion Hotel,” Buffy said as she allowed herself to be pulled across the club to a booth.

“Well, that’ll be a problem,” Liam said as they finally reached the booth.

“Why?”

“Because, it isn’t a ghost in the Hyperion, lass,” Liam said.

“It’s a demon.” Drusilla laughed.


	5. Chapter Five: Hotel Level

Demons.   Well, vampires were real here.  Drusilla and Ang—pardon, Liam, were real here.  Why couldn’t demons be as well?  Of course, odds were that they were different than they’d been in Sunnydale.  Nothing could ever be easy.  Still, a demon was easier to hit than a ghost, and after the past couple nights she’d been having, she needed to hit something.  To kill _something_ of her own volition.   She wanted it to be completely inhuman so that she didn’t have to feel any guilt about it whatsoever.  Not that she really felt any guilt about the drug dealers, but it was the principle of the thing. _Some things just need to burn._

Oh good.  The voices agreed with her.   That _obviously_ meant she was on the right path here.   Shaking her head, Buffy glanced up at Liam and Drusilla.  The former had tried something earlier, and she knew it.   It hadn’t worked, and Buffy had threatened him.  Honestly, she’d felt like tearing the Angel-face-stealing vampire’s head off, but the presence of Drusilla had saved him and calmed her.  This Dru wasn’t the one who’d killed Kendra, not the one who had left Spike for a Chaos Demon that was all antlers and slime, not the one who had encouraged Angelus to go on his rampage, helped him with Acathla and tortured Giles.   No, this Dru had called her _cousin_.   Hell, she’d actually understood this Dru, for a given value of understanding. 

“What kind of demon?” Buffy asked.  “Big, tall, short, small, pointy, toothy, cuddly, angry, what?”

Liam blinked.  “Kind of demon, lass?  It’s a demon.  Scary, feral thing.   One of ol’ Scratch’s children running around and making a big mess of things.”

Oh.  Oh dear.  That kind of demon.   A real demon rather than the cast-offs that came from the Hellmouth in Sunnydale.  Though, from the sound of it, this one wasn’t going to be the size the mayor had managed to attain at Graduation.   

“Nasty thing fell from Heaven millennia ago, and into Hell,” Drusilla said, her hand lightly brushing across Buffy’s hair, moving it out of her face.   “Years of torment later, it seeks to inflict its pain on others.”

“Bloody Hell, Slayer,” Spike said from his position on her left while Dru sat to her right. 

Buffy winced.  If it were possible, the blood would be draining from her face as she thought it over.  Words came unbidden to her lips.  “It found a host, and a shotgun.”

“Greeted every guest with smile and a bang,” Drusilla said, clearly not too distraught by it.  To be fair to her, the deaths happened years ago, and Buffy couldn’t really bring herself to care too much either, other than what had happened.   Drusilla frowned, though, and Buffy was pretty sure she was trying to sympathize with something.  “Such a waste of blood and ammunition.”

“Morning shots should be espresso, not bullets,” Buffy said, frowning.  This sounded a little familiar, especially with the Hyperion being the hotel that Angel ran his investigation company out of in LA.  It was a little strange that it was in Santa Monica, but that wasn’t the strangest thing about it.  She was almost certain whatever was in there could be dealt with.  Easily. _Blood drips down the walls and death begins to call.   Ghost and ghouls, demons and spooks.  A creature of the night fears not these things._

“Whatever it is, lass,” Liam, who was not Angel and never would be, said, gesturing toward outside the club.   “It’s more than a fledgling should be handling alone.  Even one such as you.”

“Are you offering?”  Buffy asked.  The memory of Angel fighting by her side in Sunnydale came to mind, but she wasn’t so sure that Liam would be up for this sort of thing or that she’d want him to.   Liam had tried something, after all.

“Not me, no,” Liam said.   “I just think you should get some help of some sort.   Demons like that are trouble.   They think nothing of attacking Kindred like yourself.   Going in unarmed would be suicide.”

“Oh.  This poof’s a coward.   You should tell him that, cutie.   Though leave Dru behind,” Spike commented.  “At least Angelus would fight alongside you.  Always good for a spot of violence, he was.”

“Didn’t you say you were going to give me a spear?” Buffy asked, ignoring her Spike hallucination.  Drusilla had said that, but she was pretty sure… oh.  That’s what she meant.   It wasn’t a literal spear, of course.   Liam was… “You’re sending me to the one who watches…”

… That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant to say, but it was close enough.  It was almost as if she were channeling the voice directly.   Drusilla shot a knowing look in Buffy’s direction.   Dru had called her cousin; they were of the same clan, kin, not merely Kindred.   _Blood surrounds us.  Binds us.  For blood we live.  For blood we die.  Far west is the price of the wind, not merely there for the ham._

“He who watches aspires to hunt,” Drusilla said, her hands lightly running down Buffy’s arm.  “But with some words, he might change his prey.”

“He’s human,” Liam said.  “But he’s apparently some expert on demonology.  Nest has discreetly employed his services in the past, and his information has checked out for the most part.”

“Not a ghoul?” Buffy asked, thinking of Mercurio and idly flicking the presence at the back of her mind reminding her of Cordelia.  She’d have to make sure to make time to check on the girl later.   Cordy should have been safe and alive now, but this Kindred stuff was all new to her.  Ghouls didn’t exactly exist in Sunnydale. _More than he seems to Liam as well._

“That Mercurio bloke wasn’t half-bad, even if he worked for Prince Pooferton the Magnificent.  Weird that the poof here wants you to meet up with a pure human.”  Spike cocked his head, looking to Liam.   “You know, calling him Captain Forehead would be an even worse insult to my sire’s sire.   And as much as I like to do that, only Angel deserves that moniker.”

Buffy pointedly did not look at Spike, choosing to meet eyes with Liam instead.   “I mean, this watchful guy. He’s not a ghoul, just a normal human?”

“Mortal as mortals can be, Lass,” Liam said, smiling at her, his fangs partially visible in the smile.   _Fancies himself a lady killer.   Perhaps he should fear those that bite back._

“But knowledgeable.   He can arm you for your hunt, cousin,” Dru added.   _What is a Slayer without a Watcher?_

Buffy shook her head.   

“Hey, Slayer.   You should just leave already and find this guy.   The poofter here plans on drawing things out as much as possible, and you should probably just beat him up and leave.”  Spike switched to his game face, a grin widely playing itself out upon it.   “And Dr—”

“Spike, my Spike, be quiet.  I can feel the aura of pain you’re causing my cousin.   You can talk with her later,” Drusilla said, glaring at what Buffy had thought was only a hallucination.   Nobody else had been able to see him.  Why was Dru any different?  Did this have something to do with the cousin thing?  It didn’t matter all that much.  _A meeting of minds is the gift of Malkav.   Neuroses shared are neuroses cared._

“Wait, you can see me, Dru?  I thought that only the Slayer could and—”

“You heard her, Spike,” Buffy said through gritted teeth.   She needed some time in her own head to think about this.  The presence of the blond vampire, even as a hallucination, definitely wasn’t helping with that.  “Get.  I’ll try to contact you if I need you later.”

“All right, all right, I see when I’m not wanted.”  Spike shook his head, game face dropping to his more human one, and then he faded from Buffy’s view.  “But I’ll be watching, Slayer.”

Buffy glanced over at the Irish vampire sitting across from her and Dru, wondering how he might have felt about this.  Instead he seemed to have found the bottom of the glass he had in hand very interesting.   Not that there was anything other than ice inside, but he seemed to be focused on it.  

“So,” Buffy said, ignoring what just happened.   “Where can I meet your contact?”

After getting the information on where Ang—Liam’s human contact was staying, Buffy left the Asylum.  There wasn’t any point in doing anything more than finding this human tonight, as the sun would be rising in a few hours.   As such, she’d need to see if this contact would be willing to meet her somewhere a little after sunset so that they could make the most out of it.   She hadn’t gotten a name for the contact, just that he was human, currently lived in a cheap motel room a few blocks from the beach, and that he was British.  

Turns out Liam didn’t have the name, and Drusilla, well, she was incapable of actually saying it. It must have been some sort of similar compulsion to her own, similar to the one she had when trying to say Mercurio’s name out loud.   The God of Messengers simply could not be named properly.  _Names are special, are binding._

Buffy shook her head as she approached the building.   She was starting to get hungry.   She could probably hold off on eating, but feeding felt so good.   She didn’t want to end up going to bed hungry that night… morning… whatever, so instead of going straight to the hotel where Liam’s contact stayed, she started looking around for easy targets.   _Blood is life.  Life is blood, and from the blood comes the sanctity of life._

There, down the alley nearby, she heard something.  Footsteps.   She lightly stepped into the alley, following the source.   The door from one of the buildings surrounding the alleyway had been opened, and a man dressed in a scullery outfit carried bags and bags of trash out from the restaurant, placing them in the dumpster nearby.  He looked to be Hispanic, and Buffy had the idle thought about how she always loved Mexican food before admonishing herself for making that assumption.  

He honestly might not even have been Mexican, but what he was… was her supper.   It was trivial to approach him unseen, and when her fangs dug into the man’s neck, she started to drain him directly.  The moment that sweet nectar hit her lips, she was in ecstasy.   He’d even been better than the gang-bangers she’d drained dry at the beach house.   The man was faithful to his wife, and his kids were well off.  He worked the restaurant because he had a dream to be a chef one day, and he would work his way up through the ranks so that he could do so.   He wanted to learn everything he could while he was there, and he was just—

Buffy didn’t even feel the blow that hit her off of the man, sending her sprawling into the dumpster, but the blood she’d drained was already helping to push the pellets from the shotgun blast out of her skin.   She turned toward the wielder of the gun, and instinctively she fell into a fighting stance, resisting the urge to hiss and bare her fangs at her assailant.   

He was taller than her, standing at just above six feet tall.   He had his brown hair cut short, but the beginnings of a five-o-clock shadow darkened his light-skinned face some.   He wore a brown leather jacket over a dark collared shirt with dark blue jeans and a pair of what probably were steel-toed boots.  In his hands was a long-barreled shotgun leveled at her.   

“The next shot is going for your head, vampire,” the man said, echoes of a British accent shining through.   If it weren’t for the fact that the man was leveling a gun at her, Buffy would be wanting to laugh out loud.  The One Who Watches could have meant so much, and Buffy was almost sure that it would mean someone specific.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly the one that she was expecting.  Still, this could be good.  She didn’t really feel any desire to fight this man, especially not to the death, but she would if she had to.  Instead, she needed to talk to him.  

After all, she knew the guy.  Price of the wind, indeed.

“Hello, Wesley.”

* * *

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce had been her third watcher, assigned to her by the Council after Giles had been fired for daring to help her in passing that dreadful test, or at least that’s what he’d been in the Sunnydale delusion.  Still, here he looked almost identical.   _What is real is false and what is false is real.  We find ourselves drifting on the sea of perception._

Right.  The voices in her head weren’t exactly all that helpful at the moment, not when she was paying attention to Wesley while he pointed his shotgun at her.  One who Watches, the voices had said, but Dru had confirmed it.  That meant… something.   She’d greeted him, but he seemed a little confused.

“I won’t hurt you, Wesley,” Buffy said, keeping her hands visible.   “I just want to talk.”

“You know me?” Wesley asked, not lowering the gun.  Great.  She’d have to deal with his paranoia about vampires.   She couldn’t really blame him, but it was still annoying.  “You want to talk?  Talk.”

Still, back in Sunnydale, Wesley hadn’t been all that great at his job.  He hadn’t been _this_.   Comparing Wesley to how he’d acted in Sunnydale would probably be futile.  She needed to focus on how she’d heard he’d been when he worked with Angel.   Despite how Liam was in the Asylum, Angel had been a good man and judge of character.   Wesley’s performance in LA significantly outshined how he’d been when he had arrived just out of Watcher school.   This Wesley had clearly slain more of her kind, and he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot her again out of hand.  She had to respect that, even if it hurt.

_Life=pain.  Or perhaps unlife=pain.  Forgetful and lost and not dealing with anything from kine stories.  A ring is unnecessary, of any color._

“You do some work for someone by the name of Nest.  Trade of information, maybe, or he sends you hunting things.  Spirits or vampires, right?”  Buffy asked.  “Or maybe he gets the information from you.  A Watcher.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Wesley’s hold on the gun seemed to loosen.  _Disillusioned with life, he barters with death.  The watchful are blind and yet they see everything._

“Yes, you do,” Buffy said.   “You know what I talk about, about she who is Chosen.   About what your duty is to her.”

What she didn’t say, what she wanted to say, was that _she_ had been the Slayer, the one who fought Lothos at Hemery, but she didn’t.  Not until she could get Wesley on her side.   Still, it probably would have been easier, or it would have gotten him shooting again.   She really wasn’t sure whether she wanted to try that out until he fully lowered the gun. 

“You’re speaking nonsense.”  Wesley’s grip loosened.  Clearly, he didn’t really believe the words that he was saying, and Buffy knew it.  She didn’t need any strange voice to tell her anything of the sort, and she was pretty sure that the Watcher would at least hear her out.  _There is reason they aren’t called listeners.  They watch.  They judge.  They place.  They force.  They took her into chains and bound her with one of the God-Machine’s processes, forcing it to Fall._

“You are or were a member of the Watcher’s Council.  Perhaps you were sent to replace Merrick, after he died,” Buffy said, sadness tinging her voice.  Her first Watcher hadn’t deserved the death he’d gotten, and that was something she was pretty sure happened here as well.  Merrick was real.  He’d died here too, that much she was sure of.   Maybe mentioning the Council itself was a bad idea, but she needed Wesley’s help to kill the demon.  After all, if vampires were real, maybe it was possible that the Slayer was real too.   “Your job is to train the Vampire Slayer, to advise her on what she’ll face.   Preferably having her not kill good vampires.”

Wesley’s face screwed up into a scowl, and he tightened his grip on the barrel of the shotgun.   Great.  The Council prejudices still held some.  “There’s no such—”

“Animal?”  Buffy cocked her head, letting her fangs show.   Maybe he’d believe her.   “I don’t kill humans as a rule, Wesley, even if I need to feed on them.  From what I can tell, only some vampires do.”

_Let the kine return, heal, and then be fed upon again.  The joy they feel, the rush… exquisite._   Oh sure.  Now the voices wanted to find alternate reasons for her not feeding unto death.   It couldn’t be enough that she just didn’t want to kill anyone.  Never mind the fact that she _had_ , and it had felt _amazing_.  She still had her soul.  She still had her conscience.  Mostly.   Probably.  It just had an off switch.

“I shouldn’t believe you,” Wesley said, lowering his gun fully, at last.   Maybe she’d gotten through to him.  “But for some reason I don’t feel you will attack me.”

“Not if you don’t attack first,” Buffy said, her eyes flicking to follow the gun before locking onto the Watcher’s face.   He refused to meet her eyes, and from what she could tell, that was probably a smart idea on his part.  Not that she’d try to control him, even if she could, but it was good practice when dealing with the rest of her kind.  “Now, can you help me or not?”

“I didn’t say anything about helping you, vampire.”  Great, now they were going around in circles.  Just when she’d thought she’d gotten some progress. 

Plus, her name wasn’t _vampire_ , it was, “Buffy.”  

“What?”  Wesley sounded confused.  Good.  it’d hopefully get the stick out of his ass and let her work with him.  _The ass-stick removal process is a multi-day procedure that requires inch by inch unpenetration.   The average Watcher takes two years with how large the stick is._

“Buffy.  It’s not that hard to pronounce.” She looked toward where her former prey had started coming back into his own, making his way back toward the restaurant that he worked at.   Delicious as he’d been, he would hopefully have enough left in his system that he could replenish as the night went on.

“Your name is Buffy.”  Wesley’s confusion seemed to go away, but his grip on the gun tightened, even lowered as it was.

“Yep,” Buffy said.   _He speaks of madness, of watchful slides.  Let him be consumed by that which he desires most.  Time and space beckon as a god-king dies._

And that was… probably just nonsense.   Sort of.   She’d have to keep an eye on Wesley if he’d let her still be around.   She wouldn’t turn him, of course.  No need to deal with the jester on how he wanted to handle things, but keeping an eye and making sure he remained safe seemed the best bet.  Plus, she could use a contact outside the whole political arena that the Camarilla totally were.  It’d probably help if someone tried to do something unsavory.

“Buffy Summers?” Wesley asked, and then immediately seemed torn between raising his gun and lowering it.  “Slayer, Buffy Summers?”

_He fights teachings he does not fully understand. Vampire. Slayer. Ne’er the two shall mix.  Until they did, in you, figura mea._    Julia?   No.   She’d seen Julia dust.   She’d lost her sire the previous night, and… she needed to deal with Wesley.

“Not Summers anymore,” said Buffy.   “Not anymore.   I walk and talk, yet I breathe not, Watcher-man.  I have a job to do, and I need your brain.    Your knowledge.”

“You were to be my Slayer, the one I kept watch over, but I found you were in an institution,” Wesley said.  “I saw you, once.   You were catatonic.”

“I had hallucinations,” Buffy said, in explanation.  She wouldn’t go into the full details with him as they ultimately didn’t matter.   “And you were there, and so many more people.  Perhaps… you were there when you were _there_.  Perhaps not.”

“And now you are a vampire,” Wesley said.  She heard anger in his voice, like her being a vampire was her choice.  Like she’d wanted to be a crazy creature of the night.  _I have a theory, they got the mustard out._

“One that needs your help.   I won’t harm you, I swear,” Buffy said, ignoring the voices.  Sometimes that really was the best answer, even if they were distracting..   “You can work with me, honest.”

“A creature such as yourself claiming honesty,” Wesley scoffed.   It was obvious that he didn’t want to work with her, but at least he hadn’t raised the gun again.   The shells had stung when they were pushing out of her flesh.

“I was to be your Slayer.  You want to be a Watcher, Mister Wyndham-Pryce, _act_ _like one_.”  Buffy crossed her arms.   _Rogue demons to hunt, kine to find and drink.  Blood is life and life is blood and hunt is death and life everlasting…_

“How is it you know my name?”  Wesley asked.   

“How do you know of the stars in the sky?” Buffy asked, the answer coming unbidden to her lips.   Sometimes the voices don’t like being ignored.  Clearly, even if everything she said made sense. “Names are fickle things, you just need to listen to hear.”

Wesley shook his head.   He clearly didn’t understand something that was so clear to her.  “So, you still remain addled, even in death.   What are you wanting?”

“To kill a demon,” Buffy said plainly.    It really was a simple task she was proposing.  She just needed Wesley to tell her the kind of demon and how to kill it.  That was his job, after all.

“Impossible,” Wesley said.  “Demons are nigh indestructible.”

“Slayer,” Buffy said simply.   After all, if Wesley believed that the Slayer was real, Merrick had been real, and vampires were real, why wouldn’t the Slayer be?  Pity it took her turning into a vampire to realize that was even possible, but that was the way things went.  _Explosions and crosses.  Lines and circles.  Death and taxes.   Fear and loathing.   Demonology is full of secrets.  Let us suck them out one by one._

“If it is a demon, a true demon, rather than some _thing_ masquerading as one, it is a Fallen Angel, and it can and will kill you if you try,” Wesley said.   “And the world would be rid of one more vampire.   So, go ahead.”

“Okay one, _hey_!  Two, I might not even need to kill it.”  Buffy shook her head.  “It’s making the Hyperion Hotel all uninhabitaty; I just need to get it out of there.”

Buffy didn’t mention _why_ she needed it that way, an elaborate way to get someone to trust her so that Nest and Therese Voerman could work together feasibly.  Of course, this could result in the destruction of any of them, but she needed the brownie points with the jester.   She didn’t like her current sanctuary, after all.

Speaking of sanctuaries, Buffy glanced toward the sky.   She still had some time, but she needed to make it back home soon.  She didn’t want to be caught here when the sun rose.  Call it a hunch, but she thought she wouldn’t tan all that well.   _Nonsense!  Just put on SPF 1,000,000,000 sunscreen, and it won’t burn at all._

“The Hyperion, you say?” Wesley asked, a pensive look coming to his face.  She recognized that look from when Giles would think and have an ah-ha moment. “I’ve heard about that.   A mass killing in the fifties, and it’s been condemned since.   Are you sure it’s a demon?”

“I was told so,” Buffy said, glancing to the sky. Still twilight.  She’d be fine. “Can you help me find out a way to drive it out?”

“I suppose I can look through some books...”   Wesley murmured.  He clearly had his curiosity piqued, something she would consider a good thing as long as she didn’t have to do the research herself.

“Good.” Buffy smiled at him, showing a bit of fang.   _Always good to remind the kine what they are.  Whom they should serve._    “I’ll meet you at the diner on third around nine at night.  See you.”

Buffy turned and ran down the alleyway, not even giving Wesley a chance to respond as she started to make her way back to her sanctuary.   Her bed beckoned, and she was already looking forward to a good day’s rest before a proper Slaying.

* * *

Sanctuary it may have been, but to the California socialite she’d been before Sunnydale, the apartment that the Jester Prince had arranged for her was still more than insulting.  Luckily, she hadn’t much need to stay within it once the sun was down again, but it still irked her.  Perhaps the jester felt so insecure in his power base that he needed to exercise what little influence he had on an easy target.  He’d find her not so easy in the coming days.  _Princes and crowns and courts of downs.  Fear the enemy and the cheese will be fine._

Right.  Cheese.   Why was it always cheese? _I wear the cheese, it does not wear me._

At least she’d slept okay this time.  She only vaguely recalled her dreams this time.   Something about a giant coffin and an explosion.   Maybe that girl on the beach knew something, some sort of prophecy, but she’d had enough of those.  _Find the seer’s eye and pluck it out.   Glass is novel and forms are here.  The One Who Sees needs an eyepatch._

“Xander’s not real,” Buffy muttered. Probably.  Merrick was though, and vampires were.  Sunnydale, however, wasn’t.  Not as far as she could tell or research.  Still, if she was stuck in Santa Monica in the meantime, she’d have to deal.   _Kitten has claws that reach far. He flirts with danger and changes with the seasons._

Part of that dealing would be meeting up with Wesley, someone who clearly hated Kindred with how he looked at her.   She’d have to be careful around him.  He could expose the masquerade, and there was no way she wanted to deal with the fallout from that.  Killing him wasn’t an option either.  _His contract likely extends post-mortem.  They always did meddle with things._

As she drained a blood pack, she made another mental note to get a mug and a microwave.  If she wasn’t going to be getting it fresh from the vein, at least she could warm it up some.  Pig’s blood, as distasteful as it sounded, could also be easier to obtain than fresh human blood, in bags anyway.   She just had no clue how satisfying it would be.  Besides, it wasn’t like it was all too hard to lure a person to a dark alley where she could have her way with them.  _Kine are little Happy Meals on legs.  All too eager to give up to the Kiss._

Glancing at a clock, Buffy grimaced.   It was time.  She locked up the apartment.  Not _her_ apartment.  _The_ apartment.  Until she was certain that the Jester didn’t have his own way to get in, it would never be hers.  Paranoid?  Maybe.   But something was rotten in the City of Angels, and she intended on finding out what before it bit her undead ass.  The first step was dealing with this demon, and the first step for that was to find out what Wesley knew. _Watchers were always more books than brains.  Or was that books than brawn?  Brawn than books?_

The diner was only just down the street, and it had that retro 50s chic that so many diners tended to have these days.  Disgusting.  Not like any of them had even been around for the 50s.   Well, maybe that one guy in the corner had, but he looked like he was older than Angel and still human.  Since it was a seat yourself diner, Buffy took a seat at the corner where she could watch both doors.  _Twos.  Kine do things by twos.  Two doors, two floors, two hands, two feet, two eyes, two ears.   One mouth, one heart, pumping delicious vitae._

A heavyset Hispanic woman in a waitress uniform approached her table, set a mug down, and poured coffee out of a silver carafe.  She seemed beleaguered to Buffy, possibly overworked, but then again, Buffy recalled working in a place like this once.   She knew the difficulties.  _Just a single snap and it’s over.  No one comes for you, no one seeks your end.  No one is killing you, but who is no one?_

“Need anything, sweetie?”  She had kind eyes.  Buffy could just pluck them out and place them on something that you placed eyes on.   A doll, maybe?   Okay, that was probably the crazy talking.  No eye plucking from the nice lady.  Even if her name was Irene.  Maybe it would be I plucking?   

“Just the java is good, for now,” Buffy said, her eye traveling along the woman’s neck.  How easy it’d be to just dig her fangs in, drink deeply, but no.   They were too in public, and she didn’t want another round with Wesley’s gun. _In America, you have the right to bear arms.   Yet for some reason, nobody has thought to arm bears._

“Mm-hmmm,” said the woman.  “Just you then?”

“The watchful one will be along shortly.  He will want pie,” said Buffy as she frowned.  Pie sounded unnaturally disgusting right then, but human hunger had no place for her anymore.  _Mrs. Lovett’s meat pies, naturally full of blood!_

“Right.  I’ll let him know you’re over here if I see him,” said the waitress.

“Your kindness abounds, ream of eyes,” Buffy said, and she settled herself back in the booth.  “I mean, thank you, Irene.”  She really needed to get that under control if she could.   Sure, it was funny to see the reactions when she was properly descriptive, but she didn’t want to scare people off most of the time.  Humans scared too easily.  _Let the wrong ones in._

“Mm-hmm,” Irene said as she walked away.   Hopefully Wesley wouldn’t take too long.  She wanted to get started on this Hyperion thing, and then she could hopefully figure out what it was that she needed to talk to this Nest guy for.  Maybe she could wheedle more information from the daughters of Janus about Sammy too.  _She always was a fan of her turtle.   It’s too bad that Cindy Lou flushed it._

Wait, that wasn’t quite right.   It had died, and Sammy’s parents flushed it.   Buffy had held her friend as she was upset.  Right?

Buffy tapped a spoon against her coffee glass.   Maybe it would be more appetizing if she added some sugar.   She made a small face and grabbed a few packets.  

“You won’t be able to drink that, love,” Spike’s voice settled in near her ear.  “Not with what you are.  You lot are different from us at good old Sunnyhell.  Still got your soul, your spark, Slayer.”

“Not now, Spike,” Buffy murmured as she opened a packet.

“Pft.  Not like these other wankers in here can hear me,” Spike said, and though she refused to look, she could easily picture the blond vampire waving his hand dismissively.  “Young Watcher Wesley might have a bit of a chance, but he’s still a ponce.”

“Drusilla saw you,” Buffy said. 

“Dru’s as barmy as you are, love,” Spike said with a laugh.  “It’s one of the reasons I love her.”

Buffy dumped the sugar packet in the coffee and then grabbed another packet as the door to the diner opened and in walked Wesley Wyndham-Pryce.  Walked perhaps was too strong a word, as the man seemed to be heavily weighed down.  He dragged a bulky-looking satchel in, straining only slightly less than the Wesley she remembered would have.   There had to be books in that bag.  It just made sense.  _Imagine if all the books in the world fit on a single point.  Now put that point on a whale.  And have that whale eat a puppet._

Making eye contact with him for a second, Buffy turned back to her sweetening of coffee.   She’d moved on from sugar and now had the substitutes.  Consuming this cup started disgusting to her, and she suspected now it would be far more so.  _Blood is sweeter than the sweetest wine.  Apple of the vine, human and kine._

Wesley finally sat down in the chair across from her and he dropped the satchel to the ground with a loud thump.   “You could have helped me, Miss Summers.”

“Buffy,” she said.   “Not Miss Summers.   Let’s not associate the family of summer to the Kindred of now.  Please, watcher-man.”

“Very well, Buffy,” Wesley said, and Spike laughed as he appeared behind him.  She paid the blond vampire no mind.   “Your informant about the Hyperion seems to have good sources.”

“One does, but to know the mind of the other is to invite madness and badness,” Buffy said, dipping a hand down to grab another packet.  “So, what’s the what and how do I kill it?”

“Upon my research into the Hyperion’s… phenomena in the past and present,” Wesley said as he reached into his bag.  “I have determined a likely culprit.   It isn’t your typical demon.”

Buffy’s lips quirked.  _The Fallen have Fallen and are eating the sky.  May they pluck out the sun and eat the moon lest it turns red._

Wesley pulled a tome from his bag as large as any she recalled researching from in Sunnydale and at least as old.  The bound pages were pristine with next to no yellowing at the edges, but that probably came from the fact that the pages were lined with some sort of metal.  It probably wasn’t gold, but judging from how Wesley held the book, it was valuable to him. _Life and knowledge are special things.   Kine hoard when they should share and share when they should hoard.   They live so we might eat._

“Not one of the Fallen, then, Wesley?” Buffy asked.

“Not precisely, no.”  Wesley opened the book.  “Judging purely from the historical accounts that I was able to dig up today, the demon there is similar to a spirit of sorts.  In that it is incorporeal.   It is what is known as a Thesulac demon or spirit.   It feeds off of the paranoia and pain that it can cause.”

“Incorporeal?  Bloody hell, Slayer.  Unless you’ve got some sort of mojo wrapped up in that pale mad head of yours, this might be beyond you.”  Spike took a puff on his cigarette.  “All this just to get that ponce prince’s task done.”

“What will be done must be done,” Buffy said, unsure if she was responding to Wesley or Spike.  “How do I kill it?”

“In all honesty,” Wesley said as he opened the book to a page.   “You can’t. Not directly without bringing it to the material plane first.”

“How?”  Buffy asked.   “Ask nicely?  Please, mister Demon, I would like to fight you and then feast on your entrails!” _And play hopscotch and jump rope with them!  Mages might work better._

“I doubt very much that you would want to eat the demon,” Wesley said.   “Especially given your kind’s…  dietary restrictions.”

“He knows you too well, love,” Spike said with a grin.  “Can’t even enjoy Weetabix in your blood.   For shame.”

Buffy just gave the both of them a look.  To Wesley it probably just looked like she was glaring at him.  _Fears and paranoia can fill a thought and mind. Adjust your expectations to make sure you fill your plate._

Wesley held up his hand in a mock-surrender.  “The books don’t go into too much detail about the Thesulac, but one thing is agreed upon.  There are two ways to get rid of such a creature.   The first is to let it have its fill.  The second is to eliminate its food source.  In either case, the creature will leave.”

“Oh, brilliant!” Spike exclaimed.   “Let’s do the second.   It’ll be really good for you.   I mean, the first would be fine too, but blood and violence are blood and violence.”

“But how do we kill it?” Buffy asked.  “The beast hungers and feeds.   Without a food source, it will seek one anew.”

“Like I said before, Buffy, we can’t.  Not without a way of making it solid,” Wesley said.  “However, there is something that can be done.  If an item that has witnessed enough fear and paranoia were brought before someone with certain abilities, it would likely be possible to bind such a demon.”

“Trap it?”  Buffy asked.  _Who you gonna call?_

“Precisely.   Such a demon would be vulnerable to bindings just like a ghost or other spirit would,” Wesley said.   “I even have contacts that would be able to do this for me.   We would just need to get something from within its hunting grounds.”

“We?” Buffy asked.  “What we?”

“If you think that I trust a vampire to go in there alone and retrieve the correct item, you’re madder than I thought you were.”  Wesley adjusted his glasses.  “And, I suppose, I’m still your Watcher.  Vampire or not.”

Buffy pursed her lips.   “I could very well kill you in there.”

“You could,” Wesley said.   “But I’m not what you need to worry about most, Buffy.”

“He’s right, Slayer.  There’s one thing you haven’t considered yet.  Don’t blame you though, the poof didn’t think about it either when he got his Hyperion.”  Spike pulled out a cigarette and lit it.   After taking a drag on the cigarette, he blew it in the Watcher’s face.   Not that Wesley seemed to notice.

“What do you mean?” Buffy asked, once more addressing the both of them.

“Oh, it’s just a simple question I have.   You did say that your source said the demon was still in the hotel, correct?”  Wesley asked, and Buffy nodded.   

“It’s a good question, love,” Spike said, and then his voice joined with Wesley’s.

“If the original attacks were in the forties, and the demon is _still there_ , what has it been feeding on all this time?”

_Alice?   Alice?   Where are you Alice?  Did they take you?  Off with their heads!_    

Wonderful.  Simply wonderful.

* * *

The Hyperion Hotel.   In another world, another life, this would be the headquarters of Angel Investigations, where a vampire helps the helpless and the rich and famous for a modest but reasonable fee.  Here?  Buffy wasn’t even sure whether she should be helping the dark Daughter of Janus with this place or not.  Angel wasn’t exactly Angel here.  The Toreador, Liam, had been nothing like her Angel or even Angelus, but perhaps he more resembled the kine he’d been before being granted eternal life.  Without centuries of guilt to atone for, he really seemed more a lout.  _Licentious and true.  He bites less and barks more, much like a puppy dog.  Sit Ubu, sit.  Good dog._

The Hyperion Hotel, in her world, sat in the heart of Hollywood, but here, it was located directly on the ocean.  It still had a California Spanish deco style, standing approximately six stories high.  Several windows were boarded over on the first floor, and the windows of the fifth looked broken still. A chain-link fence with a “No Trespassing” sign wrapped around the hotel, keeping the way to the beach blocked.   

Buffy stood just outside a sewer drain on the inside of the chain link fence, staring not at the hotel in front of her but at her soaked-in-sewage shoes.  “We should have just come through the fence.  I could climb it, break the lock.”

“But then someone would suspect that we were here,” said Wesley, chidingly.  He might not have trusted her, but he was willing to work with her here.   She supposed that was a good thing, even if there was the chance he’d be dead weight.  Which, of course, was why he was the one carrying most of the weapons.  _To be dead weight or to be the rogue demon hunter.   Hunters and Watchers and players and Slayers.  The time has come._

“My shoes,” Buffy said, and she shook her head.  “These are _my shoes_.”

And they were screaming obscenities about the sewage they’d had to go through, but Buffy felt that little tidbit would be a little much for the Watcher.   Her left shoe had one heck of a vocabulary too.   The right was just a copycat.  Wait.  That was silly.  Shoes do _not_ talk.  

“Hush,” she hissed at her shoes.

“Fuck off, lady, you try walking through that stuff.”  Buffy stomped her left foot down.  “Ow!”

“What are you doing?” Wesley asked.  

“Shutting up a problem,” Buffy said.  “Shall we go in, Watcher-man?”

Wesley just looked at her.  She knew that he didn’t trust her because of what she was, but at the same time, he needed her because of what else she was.   _Slayer.  Vampire.  Together, we make such beautiful pictures, Figura mea.  I chose well._

“Very well,” said Wesley after a minute.   “You first.”

“Ah, the grand old tradition of the Watchers,” said Buffy.  “Watching.   Seeing.  Being.  One who watches.  Not the One Who Sees, for that’s someone else, but watching, that you can do.”

“What?”

Buffy waved a hand, brushing him off.   She didn’t even know where some of that came from, but it rang true nonetheless.   She led the way to the front door of the Hyperion.  Strangely, there was no condemned notice on the building.  She tried the door, jiggled it a little, and then pulled lightly.  

“Locked.”  Buffy said.  “It would seem that—” Buffy frowned, stopping her talking.   

“Are you quite all right?”  Wesley asked, clearly not super worried, other than perhaps wondering if the insane vampire was going to do something crazy.  Which, to be fair to Wesley, she wasn’t the bastion of sanity she once was.   If she ever was that.  _Sanity is fleeting.  When we must be meeting.  Round the world and home again.  That’s the sailor’s way.  Faster faster, faster faster.   There’s no earthly way of knowing, which direction we are going.  There’s no knowing where we’re rowing, or which way the river’s flowing._

Buffy held up a hand.  “Fine.  Just… give me a minute.   Mind’s all wiggy and screwy.  Need to focus.”

Wesley pursed his lips.   “Did your contact not give you a key to this place?”

Buffy snapped her fingers.  “Damn.   Knew I left something behind.”  She fell back into a loose stance.  “Guess we’ll be using alternative entry methods.”

Breathing in and out with air she no longer needed, she spun around and delivered a full-strength kick to the door.  Her foot slammed through the lock, splintering the door inwards and pulling it off its hinges.   Slayer strength combined with vampire.   Perhaps.   If the Daughter of Janus had an issue with it, Buffy’d demonstrate one on _her_.   _Count the splinters.  One.  Two.  They fit together as one, but come apart as two.  Janus is light and dark.  Creamy and crunchy.  Salty and sweet.  Dualities, Buffy._

“I suppose that is one way of handling things.  Lead the way, Buffy,” Wesley said, leveling the shotgun he’d brought with him.   He didn’t quite point it at her, but she knew that he’d just as easily shoot her as something else.   She’d probably survive the first shot, but it’d be painful.

“Fine.”  Buffy stepped into the hotel, and a pressure settled over her senses.   The lobby itself was fairly open.  Chandeliers, broken ones, hung above a tiled floor that was beautiful once.   The front desk looked as if someone had taken an axe and started chopping.   Arches decorated every doorway, and stairs very visibly led up to the second level where rooms were.  She remembered rooms being on the first floor too, but those were further back.   The key thing here would be to explore, figure out where things happened, what things happened.   She knew that the demon had caused many humans to die here.  Many people to die here.   _People_.  Not kine.   _Kine or divine this time for mine._

Wesley stepped into the lobby after her, and despite his animosity, Buffy was glad that she wasn’t going to be alone here with her own thoughts.   Sure, Spike would probably have kept her company, but the company of a hallucinatory vampire wasn’t exactly the best.  Better than nothing, sure, but not the best. _You will never be alone again, little one._ _We will always walk with you._

Wait.  Was that a short joke?  Did the voices in her head just make a _short joke_? 

“It looks safe enough,” said Wesley.  “Dilapidated, sure, but nothing clearly demonic in origin.  In the lobby, at least.”

“That’s why we have to look around, Wesley,” Buffy said chidingly.   “It’s here somewhere.”

Wesley glared at her as if to say that he knew already.  Which made sense.  Watchers knew a lot, but Buffy knew more than him here.   She knew the layout of the hotel as she’d been to the Hyperion before, a few times.  Admittedly, it was in her own mind… or maybe alternate universe.  Whatever it was, she knew where to go to start searching. 

The first-floor’s hall should have been fully carpeted, but the carpets were old and decrepit, eaten away by time rather than wear.   The wallpaper had yellowed, peeling off the walls as the glue too rotted away.  Therese likely would do some renovations once she was sure everything was clear.   _Watch for flying saucers._

Wait.  Were her voices talking about aliens now?  Buffy took a few more steps down the hall.  She started to turn to look at Wesley, but then she ducked down.  A spinning vase slammed into a closed door and shattered.  Underneath the vase was a simple small plate that had landed more or less intact.  A saucer.  Her voices had been literal.  She let out a small laugh.

Wesley looked at her.  “I believe I don’t want to know.”

“Maybe,” she said. Flying saucer.  She snorted again.  “Let’s try the room.”

Wesley stepped aside, and she placed her hand on the door’s handle.   As she turned it to open the door to the hotel room, the walls around her changed.  Lights came on, wallpaper became good as new, as did carpet.  She opened the door to the room, and inside, she could see… she could see….

_Gertrude dug through the suitcase.   How dare he?  How dare Milton do that to her?  She knew what he was going to do, now that she knew.  It was inevitable.   He had that history.   Violence wasn’t uncommon for someone who came back from the War.  Gertrude had tried to help him.  How dare he spurn her for that Millicent?_

_Oh, she knew what she was going to do._ _She pulled out the stub-nosed revolver and brushed her short red hair out of her face.   She knew what she needed to do.  She’d make sure that Milton never had the chance to snub anyone else again.  Never ever._

_She heard the creaking of the door.   It could only be one person.  She aimed.  She fired._

Buffy blinked, and the vision was gone, leaving only the room and a pair of bloodstains on the carpet and the queen-sized bed within.  This room felt like it should have been locked.  _Locks are no bar to my call._

That… was different.  The woman had been young, dressed in a flapper dress with a bonnet.  Her hair had been the color of Willow’s and she was so worried that someone named Millicent was stealing her man, that the man was cheating on her.   Buffy remembered how she’d felt when Riley was going to vampires to be fed upon, and it wasn’t half as bad as what she’d felt through Gertrude’s eyes.

A frayed rope hung loosely from a rafter in the ceiling.   No body sat below it, but lights flickered off and on for a second.  The shadow of a woman hanging plastered itself on the wall.    Buffy made a tsking sound and stepped into the room properly.  It was cold enough that even she felt it.

“I say,” Wesley said as he followed her in.  “This Thesulac might not be the only issue the hotel has.”

“Ghosts,” Buffy agreed.  “Victims taken by the paranoia.  Shotguns, handguns, hangings, and death.   The hotel has seen worse days, but better ones too.”

_Run and catch.  Run and catch.  The lamb is caught in the blackberry patch._

Okay, Dru.  Buffy really didn’t need that sort of insight at the moment.  She needed to figure out how to deal with this.  

“It’s not here, Buffy.  We should try elsewhere,” said the Watcher.   Buffy agreed, turning to leave.

The body hung there from the rope.  Gertrude’s decaying body hung there, neck bent to the side and a sickening wide smile on her face.   It took all of Buffy’s inner strength to not scream in surprise.  “Do you see her, Wesley?”

“Yes, I see her,” said the Watcher.   Which meant that unlike Spike, this wasn’t a hallucination brought on by her lack of sanity.   Wonderful.  _Dreams and screams and playing memes may make things obscene._

“Good to know,” Buffy said.  

Gertrude’s arm crookedly raised, and the hanging woman pointed out of the room at an angle.  Maybe she was trying to tell Buffy to get out, or maybe she was pointing Wesley and her the right direction.  The problem was, Buffy had no real way of telling.  _It all boils down to trust. Does the ghost want you to die, or is the ghost repeating something it’s done a thousand times before?  Will you shoot the Watcher?  Will you eat him?_

Wesley backed out of the room, and Buffy followed.  

“She pointed,” Buffy said, as she started down the hallway.   

“Do you always follow that sort of thing?”

“Well, we’re here to find a demon-y thing, and the ghost lady is a part of it,” Buffy said, making sure Wesley was following her.   She carefully stepped over a piece of debris on the floor.  “Assuming it’s not a trap, this is the way we should be going.   Even if it is a trap.”

“Interesting,” Wesley said.  “You do not seem to have changed much from Merrick’s diaries.”

Buffy stopped suddenly and snatched a flying candelabra out of the air, spinning it in her hand.   “Oh, I’ve changed quite a lot from then.” She carefully displayed her fangs.  “As you well know, Watcher-mine.”

_He’s going to shoot you.  Try to kill you.  You embody that which he has been raised to hate.  Snap his neck, leave him here.  Feed upon him.  You know that you must._

“Yes.  Quite,” said Wesley as she watched his trigger finger twitch.    Guns.   She never liked them as a human, but she could see the use of them then and now.  Time and place for every weapon, and when dealing with Kindred, humans needed to be armed the best they could.  Of course, dealing with demons was much the same… except when the demon was noncorporeal.  It was obvious who he’d brought the gun to deal with.  If he felt he needed it.  _Little sticks with shooting fire.  Firewands of doom.  Some spit fire slowly.  Some spit fire rapidly._

Okay.  _Those_ were her voices.  What was the other one?  It tried to pass itself off as a thought of hers.  Sure, she knew that Wesley was probably fighting every instinct he had to just kill the vampire and be done with it, but that didn’t mean she needed to kill him.  She definitely didn’t want to kill him, and the only way she would do anything to the Watcher was if he was threatening her in some way.   Even that wouldn’t be killing.

“It knows we’re here, I think,” Buffy said.  “Buzzing.   It’s buzzing.  Like an annoying little bee that just needs to be smacked.    We’re new food to it.  New and dangerous.”

“And am I food to you?” Wesley asked, the tone of his voice slipping toward anger.  “That you would drag me to this place.  Take me some place secluded, wear the form of my Slayer and have the unmitigated gall to taunt me before killing me?”

Wesley cocked his shotgun, using the slide, and Buffy raised her hands.  

“I have no intention of killing you, Wesley.”  Slowly, Buffy turned toward him.  The Englishman aimed the barrel of his shotgun at Buffy, and she completely kept her hands visible.   She placed the candelabra down lightly on a nearby counter.   “My teeth will stay far away from your throat.”

“So you say,” Wesley said.   His gun didn’t even waver.   Was he really unable to notice what was going on, or did he have his own motives?   “You brought me here for a demon.”

“ _You_ brought you here,” Buffy said.  “I just wanted an explain-y, and then you decided that you were all willing to go John Rambo and come with me.”

“You are a vampire.  I can’t trust anything you say,” said Wesley.  

Buffy was tempted to close her eyes in frustration, but instead she took a careful step closer to the Watcher. “You’re crowded.     The nasty voices are telling you not to trust me.  The _demon_ is telling you not to trust me.  Don’t listen to it, Wesley.”

“You’re going to try and kill me.  If I don’t kill you first,” said Wesley.  _Hooks into his mind like bait and a fish.  Just need to tug and tug and release.  Trust.  Fun.  Release his worry._

Buffy frowned.  That one sounded a lot more personal to her, and with a slight blink, she realized there was something she could do.  “I’m able to ignore it for a reason, Wesley.  I can tell it isn’t me or mine.  It’s just another voice.   Telling you what it’s telling me.”

“I should kill you, monster,” said Wesley.   His trigger finger twitched again, as if he were trying to stop himself from shooting her.   So that was why she hadn’t had the scatter or slugs embedded in her.   He couldn’t bring himself to fire.  _Follow-through.  It’s all about follow-through.   Just hold the clubs, wiggle your hips and swing.  But remember to follow through._   

“No,” Buffy said, reaching within herself.  The one way she could do this, force the influence away, would make her feel guilty.   Still, she needed to do this, for Wesley’s own sake.  “You don’t want to shoot me.  You want to shoot the demon that’s over there!”

Buffy pointed, and Wesley swiveled his gun, letting out a bout of laughter.   He fired, shooting through a wall, and he fired again.   “Oh, yes, die demons die…. DIE ALL DEMONS!”

“Bloody hell, Slayer,” said Spike, his cigarette smell entering her nose.   She couldn’t see him at the moment.  “I think you drove the man barmy.”

Barmy.  That… could work.  Maybe.

* * *

Wesley.   She’d done something to Wesley, affected his mind, kind of like how Dracula had affected her and Xander.   Only she wasn’t controlling the Watcher, just driving him a little crazy.   She wasn’t sure how that worked, but at least the paranoia from the demon wasn’t quite there.  _We’re all mad here._

“Wesley, let’s find the demon,” Buffy said, a bit of hunger rising within her.  Pulling that made her hungry.   Maybe that was part of being what she was. Hunger could just grow within her and keep growing.  No matter what she did to sate it, it would never fully go away.   She almost felt some pity for the kindred she’d killed in Hemery.  Almost.  Assuming that was real.  At least she was mostly certain Sunnydale wasn’t.  _But some worlds exist without shrimp.   They have no mustard and a smile begins to pause the play._

Wesley stopped shooting his gun.  “Did I get it?”

“Yes, but it ran away,” Buffy said, placating her currently insane watcher.  That was almost lucid of her.   Not that she really was one to talk, but she felt responsible for him.  “We need to go find it.”

“Quite right,” Wesley said, adjusting his glasses.   A pang hit Buffy’s unbeating heart at that. The motion reminded her so much of Giles, but that man had been in Sunnydale… not here.   It occurred to Buffy that Wesley’s existence, along with Drusilla and Liam likely meant that there _was_ a Rupert Giles out there.  He just wasn’t _her_ Giles.   _Mirror, mirror, on the wall, thy prick of mind and let it fall._

Buffy shook her head and started down the hall.  She could take more punishment than Wesley, no matter what.  It made more sense for her to act the meat shield, and she could also hit a lot harder than the human.   

 “Demon, demon… where are you little demon?” Buffy sang out softly.   “Entrails to pull, and lives to squish, come and find, come and find…”

Wesley started to hum with her, and she narrowed her eyes.  How powerful was what she did to him?   How long would it last.  _Time is short and time is long and a second and hour are naught but the same.  What has come will come again and the Dark Father knows his own._

“Thesulac,” Wesley said.  “Paranoia causing little beastie.  We’re going to give it a little treatsy.  Things will all be completesy, and we’ll find out what it eatsie.”

“Thespian, right,” Buffy said.   “Non-solid-y beast.  How are we going to get rid of it, Watcher-man?’

“ **YOU WON’T!** ” Wind blew down the hall, kicking up various objects and pushing both Buffy and Wesley against the walls.   Down and through, and up and down.  Laughter could be heard in the wind.   And more voices.   Whispers that grew louder and louder until they became a roaring sea. 

So many voices, individual ones.   Buffy snarled, and with an effort, she picked up the nearest chest along the wall and slammed it down.   “ _Enough!_  This is enough…”

“Come and play with us!” two girls laughed and ran down the hall.   They were dressed identical, but Buffy could tell that they’d not been twins when they were alive.   _All work and no play makes Buffy a dull girl._

The wind finally died down, and the sea of whispers quieted to a lull, just there around the shadows.   The demon couldn’t do much to them other than try to scare them to death.

Tough break there.   She was already dead.

“We must be close,” said Wesley.  He seemed a bit more lucid, but she could tell that she was still affecting him.  “To whatever it’s bound to.”

“Whoever,” Buffy murmured, glancing down.  Some old newspapers had blown at her feet.  The headline of one read something about the first of the Hyperion Suicides.   The hanging of some socialite that she couldn’t make out the name of.   Another mentioned more troubles.   She shook her head and moved on.  _Topsy turvy oopsie-daisy, things right here are going crazy.  Light is dark and right is wrong, listen to our merry song._

Sometimes… just sometimes, her voices were completely random.   

She pushed on down the hall.   What they needed to find was the stairs.   Down, most likely.  Whatever was keeping the demon here, with her luck, was probably in some sort of basement room.     The room doors were obvious.   She supposed she could search them to get some cash later, but first she wanted to see if she could find the basement.   _Left door, right door, left foot, right foot, beep… beep…_

“There are the metal boxes that go up and down and up and down,” said Wesley and he let out a giggle.  “Let’s take them for a ride.”

“Does the strength of Zeus travel through this place, Watcher-man?” Buffy asked.   She pressed the button for the elevator, and it remained unlit.  “Stairs are our friend.”

“Quite,” said Wesley.     He walked a bit further down the hall, and gestured to a door clearly labeled “Stairs.”

“Down, Watcher-man.”  Buffy walked up and kicked open the door.  The wood snapped with a satisfying crack, and she wasn’t even hungrier.  Sure, she could have tried to see if it was locked first, but honestly, she was fine leaving it this way for the Voerman sisters to figure out.   The stairway inside was still carpeted, though the years of disrepair had done it no favors.  Patches were missing, and some looked to be burned, bloodstained or both.  Still, the stairway went both directions, up and down.  It only went up two floors, but it also went down the one.  Darkness beckoned in both directions, but it wasn’t like that hurt her sight.  Merely her Watcher’s.   _Prick one eye and silence the light.   Prick both eyes and enter the night.  The darkness has many eyes, some of which are mine and some are His._

“Are you quite certain the depths of Hell are where the demon is?” asked Wesley, and then he paused.  “Actually, that makes sense.”

Buffy snorted.  “Bring your torch to bear, Watcher-mine.   I’m going in.”

Buffy waited for Wesley to follow before she started descending the stairs.   The light from his flashlight lit the way ahead, making sure that the human wouldn’t trip over himself.  She really didn’t want to need to save him.   That’d just be embarrassing.

“Nancy boy isn’t quite a Nancy anymore, eh Slayer?” Spike appeared at the bottom of the stairs, smoking his cigarette.   “He’s a right proper Watcher.   Barmy at the moment, but what can you do?”

“Shush,” Buffy said.   “He can’t see you.”

“Is someone there?” Wesley asked.  Wesley looked closer at the corner Spike was in, but as far as Buffy could tell, he couldn’t see the vampire.  Hallucination.  Whatever.   “Come out and face us.  Me.  Us.   Me and the undead thing.”

“Oh yeah, big and scary Watcher.   How barmy did you make him, cutie?”  Spike sneered.  He pushed off the wall.  “You probably want to go this way.”

“Nobody important, Watcher-man,” Buffy said.  She grimaced for a second and forced out the name.  “Wesley, we need to focus on what we’re here for.”

“Right you are,” he said, and he began reloading his gun.  “Let us locate what binds the Thesulac to this place.”

Spike led the way through the door to the basement.   He didn’t open it, of course, but rather passed through it, another hint that either he wasn’t really there, or he was some sort of apparition.   Of course, Buffy had quite a lot of experience with things that weren’t really there recently.  Add the fact that the Thesulac apparently could affect perception, well… madness was all around.  _What is the nature of reality?  Flawed perception allows all to make what they will…_

Buffy opened the door that Spike went through, and she followed suit.   

The moment she stepped through, big band music started to play, and she found herself at the top of a balcony in a lively ballroom.   People, lots of people, dressed up nicely in period dress, danced to the music.  Some sort of party clearly was going on, and Buffy could smell the food, wine and human sweat that permeated the room.

“Oh, my,” Wesley said, drawing Buffy’s attention away from the dance floor below.  His clothes had changed from the denim and leather combination that he had been wearing to a dapper 20s era black and white suit.  He had a bowler hat on, and all in all looked rather dashing.   “This certainly is different.”

It was then that Buffy noticed what _she_ had on.  She wore a black and green peacock dress that stopped at just above her thigh and feathered down to about her mid-thigh. She also wore a pair of elbow-length black silk gloves and was in a pair of black strapped three-inch heels.   Her pale skin contrasted well with the colors of her outfit.   “I fully agree.  Wasn’t this supposed to be the basement?”

“Perhaps it still is,” said Wesley.  He cocked his head and looked at Buffy.  “You did something to me earlier, Buffy.  Used some of your vampiric power.”

Oh.  Well, that seemed to have worn off.  Did she need to reapply it?   Maybe she needed to be honest here.

“The demon was driving little nails into your skull.   Picking at your worries, plucking at them and playing a discordant melody,” Buffy said.   Okay, how the heck did _Julia_ manage to control what she said?  Yes, what she said made sense, but it wasn’t exactly the normal way of speaking.   If only the Jester Prince hadn’t had Julia slain.   _At ease, my childe… you will learn._

“Yes, I do recall that…” Wesley scratched his chin and patted himself down.   “Blast.  My firearms and ammunition are missing.”

“Hidden,” Buffy noted.  She looked around and grimaced.  “The demon is messing with us.”

“Clearly,” Wesley said.  “Let’s go on in, then.”

“There you are!” an overly familiar male voice called out to Buffy.   Spike… except, he wasn’t dressed like his normal self.  His hair, rather than blonde and gelled back, was in brown curls.  He wore a pair of glasses, and he wore his own dapper 20s suit, minus the bowler cap.  He also used a more proper version of the British accent rather than his normal cockney.  “I was just telling Allyson that I was going to look for you two.   But here you are.”

“Allyson?” Buffy asked, glancing around.   With how he looked, she couldn’t very well call him Spike, and Wesley could clearly see him too.  _If these shadows have offended, let all know that we have mended, and cut and bled and drained of life._

“My friend that I was to introduce your friend to, my dear Elizabeth,” said not-Spike.   What was his name again?   “Wesley, my good man, she’s waiting for you down near the dance floor.”

Wesley gave… _William_ , that was his name, a look-over.   “Pardon, I don’t believe we have met.”

“That’s a funny thing to say, Wesley,” William said, grinning widely in an almost Spike-like grin.   “Trust me, we’ve met plenty of times.   It’s me, William.  William Pratt.”   

William came over and gave Wesley a pat on the back.   “Come on, you want to meet her. She’s waiting for you.”

“She’s been waiting a while,” Buffy said softly.   “She’s the one, isn’t she?”

Wesley gave her a look, but William grinned widely and poked her in the nose.    “See, that’s why I love you, Elizabeth.  You’ve always been bright and resourceful.  Come now, let’s go.”

He offered her an arm, and she took it.   

“Oh, and I found this thing,” William said, dipping a hand into his suit jacket.   He pulled out an old-looking diary and handed it to Buffy.   “Might be useful for you in case you… well, you know.”

“How are you _here_?” Buffy hissed to him.  He’d only been an apparition before, but sure as anything, this was _her_ Spike.  _Her_ William.   This is the one she’d been…   well, in Sunnydale, anyway.

“I’m always with you, Elizabeth,” William said softly.   “Till the end of the world.”

“Just how do you know Mister Pratt, Bu-erm… Elizabeth?”  Wesley asked loudly.  Clearly, he was uncomfortable at playing along, but he did seem to recover well.  _He veils himself with disinterest, but he plays with the night._

“He’s mine,” Buffy said simply.   “My friend… my confidant…  my personal person.”

“He’s your ghoul?” Wesley asked.

William glanced back at Wesley.  “Now that’s quite rude of you, Wesley.   I assure you that nothing of impropriety goes on between myself and Elizabeth.”

Buffy snorted.

“Well, not if she doesn’t ask for it,” said William.

“You know what she is, then?”

“Of course,” William said.  “And I would be remiss in my duties if I let her face this alone.   Come now, Allyson is waiting.”

They reached the stairs, and Buffy restrained an urge to throw the Watcher off the railing.  This hallucination was _good_ , and she wouldn’t be too sure that tossing Wesley off would break it.   It might have been satisfying in the moment, but she’d feel extremely guilty afterward.  After all, he was only a squishy human, and she was… not.  She wasn’t even before she was Kindred.  _Ever see a bag of organs rip on a drive?   They flow out like sauce and the blood is ready to be supped by all ready._

Great.  Now her _voices_ were making her hungry, and there were so many people around.   So many obviously hallucinated people around.  She wouldn’t get any sustenance off of anyone here except for Wesley, and she wasn’t going to let herself do that to him.

“There she is,” William said, pointing down to a woman dressed in a green dress with a similar style to Buffy’s.  She had red hair braided in a long, curved braid that rested on her shoulders.  She had green eyes, and a familiar smile.  “Let’s go to her.”

“Willow?” Buffy whispered.

“No, she’s Allyson,” William said softly.  “Trust me, pet.  She’s not your lovely tree friend.”

Buffy nodded, and she started down the stairs.  When Allyson saw William and her, she waved, and when they got close, she stepped closer to Buffy.  “So, this is your famous Elizabeth, William?”

She even _sounded_ like Willow… admittedly with a bit of an accent befitting the time period.  

“Fame does not darken my door,” Buffy said after a second.  “But I have been known to answer to that name.”

“Yes, this is her, and behind her is one Wesley Wyndham-Pryce, a fellow countryman.   I felt that he should be your escort this evening.”  William gestured to Wesley to come forward.    “Wesley, please meet Allyson Lipchitz.  I’m sure you’ll enjoy her company.”

“Charmed,” Wesley said, stepping forward.  He smiled at the woman while giving Buffy a glance.   The music started up again, playing some swingy jazz number, and Wesley offered his hand to Allyson.  “Shall we take to the dance floor?  I’m sure that Elizabeth and William have some things they need to do.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” William said.   “We shall let the two of you get to know each other.”

Buffy nodded.  “You and I can talk later, Allyson.  I will want to know everything Wesley does with you.”

Her eyes flicked to the woman’s gloved hand.   While it wasn’t there, she got a feeling that Allyson normally wore a ring on her left hand.   She was _married_ , yet she was offered as Wesley’s dance partner.  _Strange couplings have the Kine.  Love and marriage last forever or until death be parted.  But sometimes the love disappears, and sometimes death does._

William escorted her away from Wesley and Allyson as the two got to the dance floor.   Buffy stopped when they were sufficient distance away.  

“Okay.  Make with the ‘splainy,” Buffy said, poking William in the chest.   “What’s going on?”

“It’s simple, pet,” William said, his voice gaining a bit of his normal cocky arrogance.   “We’re at a ball in the Hyperion Hotel… circa 1945.” 

“Then why are we all wearing… this style of clothing?”  Buffy asked.

“It’s a theme ball,” William said.   “The Second Great War ended, and the one previous ended around the time these clothes were worn.   I remember some things I did back then.   I don’t think you would approve.”

“Which side did you fight on?”  Buffy asked.  Why was it she could keep her speech at least somewhat normal around him?

“The side that offered me more blood,” William said in an entirely Spike-like tone.   “But that’s neither here nor there.”

 “A demon haunts these halls,” said Buffy.   “This ballroom is merely an apparition.”

“How is it that being made into a vampire made you _smarter_?” William asked.   “Loony as a bedbug, but smarter.”

Buffy glared at him.  “My speech goes weird at times.  But I was always smart.”

“Maybe, pet, maybe,” said William.   

“Allyson has a husband,” Buffy said, glancing over to where she and Wesley were dancing.   “Why would the demon show us all this?”

A gunshot echoed beyond the double doors at the end of the ballroom, and William shook his head.  “Because it isn’t showing _us_ it, love.”

The doors burst open, and a well-dressed man covered in blood, armed with a shotgun stormed in.  “Where is she?  Where is that whore?”

The man wore a sharp tuxedo, and his curly dark hair was slicked back with the blood that also stained his clothes.   

Buffy stepped forward, but William held her arm.   “Let it go, pet.  You know it isn’t real.”

“Allyson, where the _fuck_ are you?” asked the man.   Buffy deduced he was her husband, but his name was lost in a cacophony of other voices.   She’d dub him Shotgun Lipchitz, a man clearly affected by paranoia so much that he’d already killed.    _Each guest with a smile and a bang.   Hunting those who would dare lay an eye on his tang._

A glance to Wesley showed her that he’d put himself between the man and Allyson.  Maybe he’d forgotten that this wasn’t real either, as the man approached him.

“Larry, you don’t have to do this!” Allyson called out.   

“Oh, who is this then?”  Larry Lipchitz… _really_?  Larry Lipchitz approached, leveling the shotgun at Wesley.   “Another one of your paramours?   Really, Allyson.   Why should I believe anything that comes out of your little whore mouth?”

“Hey!”  Buffy called, brushing William’s arm off.   “Leave them alone.”

Buffy cut across the dancefloor with the full grace of the Slayer combined with her own inhuman nature.   She stepped between the Watcher and the gun.   She knew she could survive more shots than Wesley could, if it was realer than she thought.   _Reality is all in the perception.  Death is merely the beginning._

“Oh, and who’s this?” he asked.   “A friend of a whore?”

Buffy sneered at the kine in front of her.   The lowly little man dared to think that he was her better.   “The little alliteration thinks his musket doubles as a phallus.”

As the human started to pull the trigger, Buffy stepped forward and slapped the shotgun upward.   It barked once, and the chandelier above shattered, pieces of glass raining down on them.   “You whore!”

Buffy snatched the gun away from him and hit him with its butt.  

That must have acted as some sort of cue because the rest of the ball attendees immediately broke down into a brawl, Wesley, William, and Allyson excluded.    The three of them didn’t immediately start punching, biting, clawing, or throwing chairs. 

Larry tried to hit her again to get his gun, but she smacked him with its butt again before bending the barrel so that it was unusable and tossing it away.  

William came over to her, weaving through the violence.   “You _do_ remember what I told you, pet?”

Buffy stared down Larry.  “The alliteration bothered me.”

Larry got up and took a swing at Buffy, but she stepped out of his way.  William stepped in her place, and he took the hit to the face, knocking him back.

“Bloody hell!”  William shook his head and came back, game face visible.   “Okay, we tried the ponce-y boy bit.   It’s time for a spot of violence.  I’ll hold them off, love.  You and the Watcher take the bint to the kitchens.”

“You sure?”  Buffy asked.

“Go!” 

Buffy nodded, and she spun around, grabbing Wesley and Allyson’s arms.   “Come on, you two.”

Wesley squawked in indignation, “Buffy, unhand us…”

“No time….”  Buffy said, and she dragged the pair of humans toward a set of metal doors and kicked them open.

“Didn’t…”  Allyson muttered as the three entered an industrial kitchen that clearly hadn’t seen use in a while.   The hallucination wasn’t complete, as this area seemed to be in a state of disrepair.  Pots and pans were left to rust, and bloodstains, long dried, were on the counters.   “Didn’t happen this way…”

Buffy glanced to Allyson, and she grimaced seeing her Sunnydale friend’s face in such pain and worry.    “It’s okay, Allyson.  It’s okay.”

“It didn’t happen this way,” she said again.   “Larry killed Jeffery… and everyone else in there….  I ran…”

Wesley blinked.  “Oh.  Oh dear.”

“The demon feeds,” Buffy said softly.  _Cultivating the kine takes time._ “Fear and paranoia are like a fine wine…”

Allyson looked at Buffy.  “Demon?   Larry killed everyone… he had his demons….  I betrayed him.  And everyone betrays everyone…”

Wesley patted himself down, apparently looking for a weapon.  Then he looked to Buffy, a dark look on his face.  “So long as the demon has an anchor here, we will be unable to banish or trap it.”

“She is unable to leave,” Buffy said.  “Else she would have.”

Allyson looked at Buffy.  “Leave?  The world is dangerous!  Everything out there would hunt me like Larry…”

Buffy nodded, as Allyson made her point for her.

Wesley grimaced.  “Miss Lipchitz, I’m sorry for everything you have been through.”

“I am too,” Buffy added.   “Nobody should have to go through what the demon has done to you.”

“Maybe they _should_ kill me,” Allyson closed her eyes, a tear streaming down her face.   “After what I did…”

Wesley sighed.   “Miss Lipchitz… do you have anything, a locket, a trinket of some sort that has been on you since you’ve been here?”

“My mother gave me a locket a short while before we came here,” Allyson said.   “I’ve worn it... even when Larry didn’t want me to.”

“Very well,” Wesley said.   He looked to Buffy.   “We must deny the demon its food source.”

“I could carry her out…”  Buffy said, but Wesley shook his head.

“Drink,” Wesley said.  “Until she’s gone.  It’s what must be done.”

Buffy blinked, but her hunger came to the forefront.   She stepped up to Allyson, standing next to her.  “I’m very sorry, Allyson.”

Allyson turned to her.  “Sorry for wh—”

Buffy bit down on Allyson’s neck and started to drink.   The walls of the kitchen began to rattle as she drank from the woman.  The cabinets opened and shut, plates flew across the room and smashed.   Knives flew through the air, but Buffy simply spun her food with her out of the way and continued to drink.  

As she drained Allyson more, she felt the woman’s skin sag and wrinkle, watched as her hair shifted from red to gray to white, and she no longer felt like she had to bend upward to drink from the woman.   Her own clothes shifted back to what she wore before, as did Wesley’s, and she slowly lowered the dying woman’s body to the ground.

The walls themselves changed.  This wasn’t a kitchen, not really.   A kitchen didn’t have large boilers instead of counters.   A kitchen didn’t have stone walls that weren’t covered with anything.   This looked much more like a boiler room in a basement than the kitchen they’d run into.

When she drank the woman’s last drop, she felt Allyson’s life slip away in her grasp, and in the process, it felt like a part of herself did as well.   She’d taken an innocent life.  That would forever stick with her.  

The woman had been tormented by that night for the past fifty years.  She’d had children that had likely thought her dead at the hands of her crazed husband.   Allyson Lipchitz… had given birth to three children.  One was a girl, named Sheila. 

Buffy grimaced as she lifted her head and looked at the old woman she’d killed.  Around her neck was a golden locket, something she’d worn since that fateful night, something that had witnessed the same fear and paranoia she had.

She unclasped the locket and stood, holding it in her hand.  The Thesulac couldn’t do anything to them now that they knew.   She could always drive Wes crazy again if the need arose. 

“We have it,” Buffy said.

“Good.  Let’s leave this forsaken place,” Wesley said, turning toward the door of the boiler room.

Buffy looked down at Allyson once more, and she shook her head.   “Yeah, let’s go.”

_Guilt over the death of a kine… shows your lingering humanity.  Perhaps we’ll pop it out soon enough._

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, another new story. Interesting things happening to Buffy, and I’m working on the next chapter. I will say that I didn’t want the chapter to end here, but I realized that I needed another chapter’s worth of scenes before I could get to where I wanted to be. The fic will be better for it.


End file.
